Shattered
by BrainySmurf6
Summary: It is only one mistake, one moment. One moment that threatens everything. One moment that changes them. One moment he can’t take back. A Booth/Brennan story. Booth POV.
1. Chapter 1

_**Shattered**_

Summary: _How many times can I break til I shatter? _It is only one mistake, one moment. One moment that threatens everything they've built. One moment he can't take back. A Booth/Brennan story. Booth POV. My first Bones fanfic.

_How many times can I break till I shatter?  
Over the line can't define what I'm after  
I always turn the car around  
Give me a break let me make my own pattern  
All that it takes is some time but I'm shattered  
I always turn the car around_

Chapter One

"I mean it, Bones, you stay there, alright?"

She gives me that look I've come to know so well in over three years as partners; combative and stubborn. "I'm perfectly capable of assisting, Booth. I'm an excellent shot."

Fully prepared to demonstrate, Bones pulls out her comically oversized gun and waves it around in a haphazard way that makes me nervous.

I'm used to placating her somewhat worrisome tendency to get trigger-happy, so I just whisper back, "It doesn't matter. We don't even know if he's coming back, and _if_ he does come back, and _if _there is gunplay…it's too dark in here, it would become a free for all. Just stay down this hallway, I'll stay in mine, and send me the signal if you see anything. Got it?"

We're standing in the 'lair' of the latest serial killer sicko. A tip from Hodgins led us here, where we found the young woman intended for his next victim, still alive, thankfully, but bound and gagged. The killer, apparently, had stepped out. The victim was sent to the hospital, but we're planning on catching the bastard.

My back up is strategically arranged around the building and outside so as not to attract attention; we are the only ones in this area at the moment. I wanted Bones to stay in one of the surveillance vehicles outside, but as usual, she was having none of that.

Full participation. This insistence of hers…it's what began our partnership. It is what makes it unique now. None of the other agents are partners with a squint.

But then, none of them have the highest solve rate in the bureau, either.

"You remember the signals?" I am triple checking, and the question warrants a long-suffering sigh.

"Of course I do, Booth. One signal if someone's coming, two to check in or answer a check in-"

"Three if you're in trouble, four if you're coming out." I finish, putting the most stress on this point. We gave been using these walkie-talkie type devices only recently; they are good for communicating when talking is dangerous. Press a button, and a signal shows up on the screen on the other device. Simple and effective. "But remember what I said. You _do not_ come out unless absolutely necessary and unless you tell me, alright?"

She isn't happy with this, predictably, but she nods reluctantly.

"Okay then. Be careful."

Bones raises her gun again, and smiles, just a little. "You, too."

I leave her then. We are in the basement level of an abandoned building; for a basement, it's awfully elaborate: lots of hallways and rooms off the main area. The place is dark and expansive, a combination that makes it difficult to navigate.

I've left Bones in a small empty room down a dead-end corridor at one end of the basement; I'm heading toward the opposite side, closest to the room where we found Rachel Kennedy, the girl he'd been keeping here. I figure our killer will head this way first; I'm looking forward to giving the bastard a nice surprise.

A long twenty minutes pass before anything happens, and then it's just a noise, a kind of scraping sound. It's not terribly loud but after such a long silence I jump a little, then still; it could have come from above us, on another floor, but I can't be sure.

The walkie talkie thing, clipped on my belt, vibrates once and I glance down. Two red dots have appeared on the tiny screen; two signals. She's checking in.

I press the button twice and return the thing to my belt. I'm on the alert now, listening carefully for any indication of movement.

Then there are footsteps.

I can only hear the echoes, sounding from the opposite side of the basement. I grip my gun, prepared to shoot if necessary. The footsteps are getting closer, moving toward me. Then they stop abruptly.

I wait thirty seconds; silence. Another thirty seconds, and then I cautiously peer around the corner, my gun preceding me.

_Bang._

I barely glimpse the guy, standing about fifteen feet away, before he fires at me, and I jerk back around the corner.

There's a blur of movement out of the corner of my eye; he's running . I pivot and fire twice, just before he ducks into another corridor.

I move stealthily out of the hallway, heading for the center of the room, my gun point at the place he'd disappeared.

In a split second, my foot is tangled in something on the floor, and I lose my balance.

The silence is pierced first by the thud of my body, the clanging of the chains I tripped over, and then two clatters as both my gun and the walkie talkie get away from me.

The suspect emerges instantly, and shoots in my general direction. I have to roll out of the way, and for a moment I'm panicked, blindly searching for my gun.

After a moment, and a second gunshot, my fingers close around the barrel, and I quickly leap to my feet, firing off two shots before he can react.

There's a yell; one of them struck, although I can't tell where. He fires again, but it's wild, wild enough for him to change tactics.

He runs.

I pursue him, shooting again. I can see enough of his dim outline to realize he isn't limping; must've got him in an arm, or maybe shoulder. He surprises me, though, whirling at one point and shooting twice, forcing me to duck behind an open door on one side.

When I look, again, he's disappeared down one of the dead end corridors at the other end of the basement, where Bones is waiting.

I reach for the signal device, to let Bones know he was coming, but it's gone. I remember too late that I lost it when I fell.

I grit my teeth, my heart thumping in my chest. Hopefully, if he goes into the room Bones is in, she'll take him by surprise and get him. Of course, there's a chance he went down the hallway opposite hers. Either way, there's a dead end; he'll come out eventually.

So I wait, gun at the ready, for him to reappear, trying to quell my nerves at the sudden lack of communication with Bones.

Two minutes creep by with no gunshots, no sound of a struggle, which lets the knot in my stomach unfurl just a little. Chances are, if he's headed toward Bones, I'd know by now.

Then it happens, the flash of a movement, a figure emerges, gun drawn, and I react instinctually.

I shoot.

The figure crumbles. The gun is dropped, skitters away.

It all takes place in a split second.

I start to stride forward, but stop cold after about five steps, when I am close enough to the crumpled figure, the one _I shot_, to see it.

My stomach clenches, and my hand goes limp as my gun clatters to the floor.

_Bones_.

Recognition.

_Bones was shot._

Realization.

_I shot Bones._

I'm dizzy and cold, and in seconds I've collapsed, my knees simply giving out beneath me, and am vomiting onto the basement floor.

_What did I do?_

When there is nothing left in my stomach, I cover my face with my hands; my whole body is shaking, and I don't trust my legs to hold me up if I try to stand.

I can only think _No_ over and over.

_No no no please no no no God no…_

I look up, make myself face it.

It doesn't change.

Some sort of instinct kicks in, and I mechanically call for backup, requesting an ambulance.

I don't spare a thought to the still unaccounted for serial killer as I move toward Bones, terrified of what I'm going to see.

There's blood everywhere, so much blood, and my stomach lurches violently. The bullet got her in the side, and I press a trembling hand against the wound.

Her eyes, closed when I first arrived, flutter open. Her face is ashen, pain evident in her eyes, but when her gaze focuses on my face she smiles hazily. Her voice is weaker than I've ever heard it as she whispers, "Booth…you're…you're alright."

Something inside me crumbles as I realize what happened. Of course she heard the gunshots, and tried to check in with me. But I dropped my end, so she didn't get an answer and assumed the worst.

"Yeah, Bones…" My voice is thick and scratchy and doesn't sound like me. "I'm alright."

"So you got him?" Her eyes dart to the side, and I follow her gaze.

In the other corridor, the one opposite the one I'd left her in, there is a crumpled form about halfway down the hallway. He'd passed out, apparently, from the gunshot wound I'd given him.

Bones saw the body, thought it was me. Ran out, ran toward it….

The bile rises in the back of my throat again, and my vision blurs with tears.

I hear footsteps, voices, sirens. Bones' eyes drift shut.

"No! Bones….stay with me…" Panicked, I think back to when I was shot a few months ago. The memory of her face above me, her hand gripping mine. With the hand that isn't pressing against her side, I take her hand and squeeze it, and dazedly repeat her words from months before. "It's gonna be fine, Bones, come on. You're gonna make this. I'm right here. You can do this…"

Why hadn't I yelled for her after I realized the walkie talkie was gone?

Why hadn't I watched to make sure which corridor he ran into?

Why didn't I hesitate, why didn't I make sure?

Why?

The room begins to fill, and I numbly wave the other agents in the direction of the killer. The paramedics have to pull me away, have to force me to let go of her hand.

I back up a little, watching, helpless, as they work on her. Cullen comes over to me; I don't remember him being there before.

"He got her, huh?'

And I say the words for the first time.

Cullen stares at me. "What?"

I repeat it. "It was me. I shot her."

Me.

I was supposed to protect her. I am _always _supposed to protect her.

I shot her.

Cullen is saying something, but I can't make out the words. They're coming from somewhere else, somewhere far away. He grabs my arm, shakes it, trying to get through the fog that suddenly separates us.

I break free and turn, driving my fist against the solid, stone wall behind us.

There's a crunch, and a yell from Cullen, and then there's blood. I don't feel anything.

_My God, I shot her._

It was one moment. One mistake.

And I can't take it back.

_A/N This is my first attempt at Bones fanfiction. I discovered the show rather recently (though I'm caught up now) and am completely addicted. I'm thinking the next few chapters I have written are better than this one…the set up was kind of difficult to pull off. Still, reviews would be great! I hope you're intrigued._

Chapter Two


	2. Chapter 2

_Hey everyone! Sorry this took a little while to get up, I had a pretty busy week with classes last week. The next one should be much faster. Thanks to everyone who added this to their story alerts, and especially those who reviewed…the 18 story alerts should definitely review haha! It's a great incentive to write more, hint, hint. Hope you enjoy this chapter!_

Chapter Two

They don't let me ride in the ambulance with her.

When the paramedics get her on a stretcher and take it out, tt takes Cullen and another agent to hold me back. Even when I can hear the sirens of the ambulance start up again, and I got slack under their grip, they don't let me go.

They take the serial killer away in an ambulance, too; he was shot in the shoulder. I don't spare him a glance.

Cullen's got this grim look on his face and talks to me like I'm unstable, overly rational and calm. He says to ride with him, that we'll meet the ambulance there…he says a lot of things. He says I have to get my hand checked. He says I have to tell him what happened.

The whole ride to the hospital I'm afraid I'm going to be sick. But Cullen won't stop asking, so finally I tell him the facts, my voice disconcertingly flat, even though my heart is still pounding so hard it hurts my chest, even though I'm still having to remind myself to breathe.

Cullen visibly relaxes when I finish. He starts talking about how it was only an accident that I acted within protocol, that it's no one's fault. As if I have any desire to be absolved.

"…you'll have to fill out a report, of course. There may be an inquiry, but you didn't take any reckless action. Dr. Brennan had been instructed to stay where she was, and it certainly isn't your fault the communication was cut off…"

The relief in his voice makes me want to hit him; it's probably just as well my right hand is numb. Instead, I grit my teeth and stare straight ahead. He doesn't care about Bones; he just wants to make sure there won't be repercussions on the Bureau, on my field status.

As if any of that matters now.

Cullen eventually senses my mood and falls silent; I speak only once more the whole ride, asking if he can call the 'squint squad' at the Jeffersonian and tell them what happened.

I barrel into the hospital ahead of Cullen, pushing my way to the first desk I see and repeating her name, over and over. The nurse I'm speaking to looks vaguely alarmed until Cullen strides up behind me and flashes his badge. Soon, we're being directed to a waiting room, with a promise that someone will be with us shortly.

Cullen suggests I should let someone look at my hand, but I ignore him. After a few minutes, Cullen gives up on me and leaves, probably to find out what's going on with they guy we're arresting.

I drop my head into my good hand, eyes closed, and I do the only thing I can do right now.

I pray. It's hard to focus, so it's one only one word, over and over.

_Please._

I don't know how much time passes before the doctor comes out. "I'm Dr. Evans. Are you with Temperance Brennan?"

It feels like there's a fist wrapped around my heart; it squeezes. "Is she okay?"

He nods. The fists loosens, but only just, before he continues, "For now. She's lost a lot of blood…"

He keeps talking, medical jargon and science lingo that makes me dizzy, the exact kind of thing I need Bones to translate. What it all comes down to, though, is his last sentence: "We have to get her into surgery. As soon as possible."

"Surgery?" I swallow. "I…I'm Seeley Booth, I'm…I'm her partner." There's a pressure building behind my eyes I don't want to deal with, not now. "I have, um…" I'm not thinking clearly, and I can't remember the term Bones used. "…medical power of attorney?" She was my medical proxy and I was hers, since right after the shooting in the Checker Box. The logic had been that we were most likely to get injured on the job if anywhere, and neither of us wanted the other restricted by 'family only' hospital policies.

That's what Bones had said. I'd grinned at her, adding, "And because we trust each other." When she'd merely glanced up from the forms to look at me, silent, I'd bumped my shoulder lightly against hers. "You trust me, right, Bones?"

She'd just given me an impatient look. "Of course I trust you, Booth. I shouldn't have to tell you that; I would never have to ask if you trust me; we've had three years of partnership to prove that fact."

The fist around my heart clenches. She'd trusted me, without even having to think about it.

And look where it got her.

My head drops again, vision blurring. Dr. Evans says something about her chart, and then he's handing me forms to sign. I have to use my left hand, so it's nearly illegible; all I can think is that I shouldn't even be allowed this responsibility.

"Nasty break." The doctor comments, staring at my right hand. "If you'd like I can get one our orthopedic residents to take a look-"

"No," I say brusquely. "Can I…see her?"

Evans, an older guy with dignified grey hair and glasses, looks like he wants to say something else about my hand, but thankfully addresses my question, "We'll be wheeling her by in a moment, on the way to the OR. You can see her then."

I nod, throat too tight to thank him. In about two minutes, Dr. Evans returns with several other doctors or nurses or whatever they are. They're wheeling a large gurney, and Evans motions at them to slow when they pass me.

I numbly move toward them, easing myself awkwardly between two of the people surrounding the gurney so I can see her. Bones' eyes are closed; I maneuver around the rails of the gurney and take her hand, squeezing gently.

I move with them for a bit, my eyes never leaving her face. She looks so small, somehow, lying on a gurney.

We get to the doors of the elevator, and Dr. Evans turns to me. "I'm sorry, this is as far as you're allowed. We have to take her downstairs… I'll try to keep you updated…"

I tighten my grip on her hand, suddenly terrified. I don't want them to take her away. He hadn't said much about this surgery, how dangerous it is, what they'll be doing to her. More likely, he had explained, but I hadn't paid attention because so much was flying over my head.

"Agent Booth."

I swallow hard. "Will it…it won't kill her. This surgery, it won't…it won't kill her, right?"

Dr. Evans glances at one of the other doctors, then meets my gaze, his eyes sympathetic. "There's always a risk associated with surgery, and her injury is critical…but I assure you I will do everything I can to save your partner."

I squeeze my eyes shut; none of those words were what I wanted to hear, which was that it was a simple procedure and of course she would be fine.

The elevator is open and they attempt to move the gurney forward, but I hold fast to Bones' hand.

Dr. Evans put a hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Agent Booth, but the sooner we begin the better…"

"Just…just wait." My voice cracks. "Just a second." I move a little closer to her, wanting to say something…tell her I'm sorry, or tell her to come back to me. Bones would laugh at this, tell me it was irrational, and that an unconscious person can't comprehend things.

The doctors are all staring at me, so I press my lips briefly to her knuckles before relinquishing my hold; they wheel her into the elevator, and I stand still, watching. All the while, I'm praying to God that this won't be the last time I see Bones alive.

The elevator doors close and something inside me crumbles.

I'm on my knees again, hands cradling my head. I'm seconds away from breaking down in a way I haven't in years and years.

A hand falls on my shoulder, and I hear a familiar voice say quietly, "Seeley."

I turn. Cam is standing right above me, and behind her are Hodgins, Angela and Sweets.

Cam grabs my arm just under the shoulder and tugs. "Get up, Seeley," she says, firm but quiet. I get unsteadily to my feet, ducking my head so I don't have to look at them, or see them looking at me.

"Where's Brennan?" Cam asked in that same tone.

"Surgery," I mumble.

I hear Hodgins clear his throat. "She going to be okay?"

"Th-they don't know," My eyes close. Bones has been in danger before, of course she has. When that son of a bitch Kenton kidnapped her to kill, when she was buried in that car…each terrifying moment is etched in my memory. But it's never been like this. I've always been able to do something. I've never had to just wait around for someone to tell me if she's going to be alright. And, of course, I've never been the one to do something to her. "Damn it…"

Cam's voice immediately softens, "Booth. Cullen told us what happened…we know it wasn't your fault."

"Yeah, man, " Hodgins adds tentatively. "It was just an accident."

"A miscommunication," is Sweets' contribution.

I shake my head a little, willing their words away. They don't know. They weren't there.

They should hate me.

Cam is peering at me, "What the hell happened to your hand?"

She seizes my wrist, presumably to examine my hand closer, but I shake her off. Angela is the only one who hasn't said anything to reassure, and in a strange way I appreciate that. I don't want them making me feel better. I don't deserve to.

My eyes find Angela's. She is clearly anxious and shaken. She holds my gaze for a moment, then walks forward, pausing in front of my.

For a moment, I think she's going to slap me. Instead, she puts her hands on my arms and looks at me intently. She's close enough now that I can see the tears in her eyes, but Angela's voice stays steady as she says seriously, "Booth. We all know, and Bren knows, that you are the last person who would _ever_ hurt her-"

"_Stop _it!" I recoil from her grasp and brush past them all.

It takes me five minutes to find the hospital chapel, I'm so rattled. It's small, dimly lit and empty. I sink into a pew just a few rows from the very back, resting my forehead on the back of the pew in front of me as I wait for my breathing to steady.

I pray, again. Because I hate feeling ineffectual and helpless, and at the moment this is all I can do. I ask her Bones to be okay.

I don't ask for forgiveness.

I'm thinking of my number killed. The cosmic balance sheet, as Bones called it. It's at fifty-two right now. Epps was fifty. That paramedic clown guy, he was fifty-one. And Gormogon, he'd been fifty-two.

As impossible as it seems, there is a very real chance that Bones could become fifty-three.

I don't think I can live with that fact.

The truth is, even if Bones is alright, even if she makes it (_please please let her make it_), that's a mark on the balance sheet. And the idea that I could ever check it off is laughable. I can't make up for this. There's no way.

This mark is permanent. It's with me forever.

Behind me, I hear the creak of the chapel door opening and closing, then the footsteps of someone else entering.

Someone's palm presses against my back. "Booth," Angela's whispering, even though we're the only people in the chapel.

I lift my forehead from the hard wooden pew, but I don't turn around. My voice trembles. "I shot her."

"I know."

"I'm supposed to protect her." There are tears in my eyes, but I grit my teeth and force them back. "_Always_."

"And most of the time, you do," Angela reminds me gently. "You made a mistake."

"She could die, Angela," I state thickly. "Bones could…she could die." For the first time, I twist to face her. "What am I supposed to do then?"

Angela looks at me, her expression pained, and answers honestly, "I don't know." Then she leans forward a little and adds, "But Bren is tough."

Of course she is; she's a fighter. Bones is one of the strongest people I know. I just don't know if it will be enough this time.

I take a deep steadying breath. "She…she thought I'd been shot. There was a shoot out, with the guy, and I left Bones down a hallway. She wasn't supposed to come out unless she checked in on our walkie-talkies but…I dropped mine, earlier and…and she didn't get an answer…" My voice breaks, and I drop my head again. "That's why she ran out. She thought I was hurt."

"That makes sense," Angela says gently. "She's been paranoid about something happening to you since the shooting…"

I lift my head abruptly. "What do you mean?"

"Well, c'mon, Booth, you almost bled out in front of her. And as far as we knew, you were dead." I don't know if I'm imagining it or not, but it looks like Angela's eyes harden momentarily.

I am tempted to ask questions about this supposed paranoia, but I shake it off.

Silence prevails for a bit, and then Angela puts a hand on my arm. "Come back into the waiting room with us."

I don't want to go back there, not with them all trying to make me feel better. But I find myself nodding, and Angela tugs on my arm until I'm standing and following her out.

"You really should let one of the doctors look at your hand…we're in the right place for it." She keeps her tone light, but I can see the question written all over her face.

"I punched a wall," I tell her in the worst attempt at a casual tone ever.

Angela doesn't seem surprised. "Look they can have it fixed before Bren's out of surgery. And she'll be okay, and you can see her, and talk to her, and…and maybe even say things you never would have before, just because this is your chance to think about all of it."

She gives me a significant look, and for a moment I'm rendered speechless. I think about denying her implication, but it's pointless. So I say, "You can't know that."

"But I can hope for it," Angela says, always the optimist. "Hope never hurt anyone."

We walk several paces in silence, but then I stop. "But….even if she wakes up….even if she's okay…how do I tell her?"

Angela looks blank for a second, then realization dawns. "Oh, Booth…she's going to understand. Brennan isn't going to blame you…she knows you wouldn't do this on purpose, ever…my God, you took a bullet for her! It isn't going to matter."

We're back at the waiting room then, and everyone looks relieved to see me. Cam immediately directs me to a doctor who's apparently waiting to X-ray my hand.

I'm on edge the entire time they're X-raying and then casting my hand. If a person so much as walks by the open door I tense, and my heart stars hammering in my chest. The thing is, I'm terrified that at any second someone, Dr. Evans or Cam or another of the squints, are going to come in to tell me the worst possible news.

Still, after almost two hours, I'm back in the waiting room with the others, hating every second of it.

I want to stop picturing it in my mind. The way she was just a blur that I didn't bother to identify, the way she just crumpled to the ground. And that horrifying, sickening moment of recognition.

At one point, Sweets comes and sits next to me. I groan. "Jesus, not now…"

He pretends he didn't hear. "Are you alright?"

I glare at him. "For a psychologist, you aren't so great at assessing a situation."

As usual, the insult rolls over him, ineffectual. "You think this is your fault."

For some reason, this is all it takes for me to snap. I'm out of my chair in an instant, and in the next second I've yanked Sweets out of his chair and am in his face, yelling, "Of _course_ I think it's my fault! How'd you figure that one out, genius, huh? Because of the way my, my forehead muscles were contracted, or, or the stiffness in my posture or _maybe_ because _I _am the one who _shot her_!"

Sweets is staring me, wide-eyed and genuinely fearful. Hodgins and Cam hurry forward.

"Seeley, _stop it_," Cam snaps.

I release the kid. They're all staring at me, taken aback. I turn away from them, my good hand rubbing my face tiredly. I start to pace.

I don't know how long the surgery lasts, but it seems like forever before Dr. Evans comes back in the room and clears his throat for our attention. My blood runs cold and I freeze; every ability I ever had to read people seems to leave me, because I can't decipher anything from his expression.

Then he smiles.

"She's going to be fine."

The others all stand, going to thank the doctor or exchange hugs with each other, but I'm not aware of any of it; for the third time tonight, my knees give out underneath me, and this time I sink into a chair, my face in my hands, shaking with sheer relief.

The next thing I am aware of it Angela, asking "Can we see her?"

The doctor answers, "Some of the interns are doing post-op notes on her right now, and she's still under from the anesthesia, but it shouldn't be long. I'll send someone to come get you shortly…although we'd rather you go in smaller groups, just one or two at a time."

More nods and thanks that I don't participate in, and then the doctor is gone.

Angela turns to me. "You should see her first."

It's true that at this moment I want nothing more than that; I'm physically aching to see her, to prove to myself she's alright, to maybe even pull her into my arms and never let go. But I can't face her, not yet. "No…you can go. All of you…I shouldn't…"

Angela opens her mouth to protest, but Hodgins puts a hand on her shoulder that seems to discourage her.

We wait about fifteen minutes when a younger doctor enters. "Excuse me, are you all with Dr. Brennan."

"Yes…"

"You can see her now." He scans the large group. "Well, some of you can. She's waking up, still a bit groggy, though…"

Angela looks at me imploringly, "_Go_."

I avoid her eyes. "I don't know what to say…"

Angela gives an exasperated sigh, "My God, Booth, just go in there-"

The young doctor interrupts, "You're Booth? We weren't sure if that was a name….she's been asking for you."

With that, I'm lost. Bones is asking. And no matter how scared I am, that trumps everything.

Within moments, I'm outside the door to her hospital room. I give myself a moment to steady myself, and then I go in.

It breaks my heart to see her like that, even knowing she's alright; she looks exhausted and scared; but when her eyes land on me, pure, unadulterated relief breaks over her expression. "Booth…"

I hurry toward her, and it takes every ounce of restraint I possess to stop from swooping down and pulling her into a crushing embrace. Instead, I practically collapse into the chair beside the bed, pulling it as close as I can get. "Hi," I whisper hoarsely.

"Hi." She tries to smile, shakily. "I...I don't really know what happened…" My stomach plummets. "Did we get the guy?"

"Yeah. But that doesn't matter now." I take her hand instinctually. "God, I'm so glad you're okay."

"You, too." She winces a little.

"Does it hurt?"

"A little…"

"Jesus, Bones…" Inexplicably, this is the moment my resolve crumbles. I move off the chair, close to the bed, and pull her into a hug. For the first time since arriving at the hospital, I let the tears gathering in my eyes fall, and they drip into her hair as I hold her. Slightly to my surprise, Bones' arms go around me without hesitation, and I'm sure she can feel how violently I'm shaking.

"Booth…" I can hear the surprise in her voice; she's never really seen me like this. I'm always trying to be strong for her. "It's okay. I'm okay." I can feel her fist close around my shirt, bringing me closer. I shudder. Then her voice begins again, "Booth, I'm so sorry."

I freeze at these words, then slowly draw back to look at her, wiping my eyes with my sleeve in what I hope is a fluid motion. "Wh-what?" There's an inexplicable panic choking me. "You…_you're _sorry?"

There are tears sparkling in her blue eyes. "Yes. You specifically told me to stay in the corridor and I was being reckless. So I'm sorry I didn't listen, and I'm sorry I made you worry…" Her eyebrows draw together, confused. "Where are you going?"

I am backing away from her, intent on getting out of the room. "I have to…I have to go…Angela…Angela and the others are waiting to see you, I'll send them."

Bones looks utterly bewildered, and more than a little hurt. "But, Booth-"

I leave the room and nearly break into a run.

I barely stop moving in the waiting room, just tell Angela, "You can go see her…" and attempt to hurry past them. Predictably, Angela blocks my path. "Whoa. Where are you going?"

"I have to go. I have to call Cullen…"

Cam speaks up, "I spoke to him earlier, he said to take your time."

Angela's eyes widen. "Did you tell her?"

My voice falters. "No, I-I couldn't…"

"You can't just _leave_ her, Booth, you have to tell her the truth, I swear she's not going to-"

"She _apologized_," I force out, my tone anguished. "To _me_. For making me worry…"

Hodgins and Angela exchange a look, and Hodgins says, "I don't get it…"

"Obviously, Agent Booth can't deal with apologizing to him, as if it were somehow her fault; it reinforces the fact that he is feeling an extreme amount of guilt and can't being to think of how to apologize himself." I slowly turn to look at him, and he flushes instantly. "Sorry…"

Angela is shaking her head, "I don't know about all that, but I don't care. Booth, Brennan just woke up alone in a hospital, you can't just leave her. You're the one she wants to see right now, not us, and you know it. You're going to have to tell her eventually, and believe me, it's not going to matter. Now turn around, and be a man about it, alright?"

It's hard to argue with this no-nonsense logic, so I nod meekly and turn around, headingback to Bones' room.

The expression on her face when I return makes me feel even worse. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No…of course not."

"Good. I didn't think it was possible to have offended you with the limited conversation we had. I just wanted to be certain." There's a pause, then she adds, "So why did you leave?"

I take the chair again and force myself to meet her eyes. Bones' eyes have always been my undoing; now, they have the ability to hold so many different emotions, in a completely raw and vulnerable way. Even as Bones holds herself together, determined to seem tough, her eyes give her away every time. Now, they reveal fear and worry and confusion. I'm pretty sure I don't want to know what they're going to reveal a few minutes from now.

The blood is pounding in my ears. "Bones…I didn't want to have to hear you apologize. It wasn't your fault, okay? I promise you…I dropped the walkie talkie early on, and I didn't even think to try to tell you what was going on.."

She shakes her head, "But I still should have-"

"No," I say, more harshly than I'd intended. I flush, and soften my tone instantly, "It wasn't your fault…it was mine…all of it…" My voice breaks noticeably. "God, Bones, I was so scared…"

She puts a hand over mine on the bed. "Everything's alright now."

"No…no, it's not." She gives me a questioning look. "There's something you have to know…" Our eyes lock, and I make myself say, "I did it, Bones. I…I'm the one who shot you."

_Review away…that little button is right there waiting. Thanks for reading!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Wow, you guys were great with the reviews! Hopefully this quick update is a good reward…and one that will have you all repeat it! I love hearing what everyone thinks. This chapter is longer than I'd originally planned, and I think there's some good moments in it…so I'd love some insights on all the different scenes. Enjoy!_

Chapter Three 

"I did it Bones. I…I'm the one who shot you."

All I want is to look away, but I force myself to leave my gaze locked on hers. Bones blinks at me, a look of utter incomprehension dawning. "Wha-….what are you talking about, Booth?"

My mouth is dry, and it makes my voice sound raspy, "I, I…I did. I did it. I didn't know the guy had passed out, and I thought you were him and I just…it was reflex, and I…I shot you."

There it is. Not anger, or disappointment or anything like that. Just complete shock. Like me, she can't believe this happened. Can't believe the person who hurt her was _me_.

My face crumples a little, and I duck my head because it's too hard to look at her. "I'm sorry." My voice splinters in the middle, but I repeat, "I'm so sorry…" Eye burnings, I squeeze them shut and start to stand up, moving to go.

"Booth, wait!" The level of emotion in Bones' voice startles me, and she grabs my arm to keep me from leaving. I stop moving, but keep my face ducked, the hand not in a cast coming up to rub my face. Bones tightens her grip, and when she speaks again, her tone is back to normal, logical and vaguely impatient. "Would you please look at me?"

I set my jaw firmly and swallow several times. She doesn't say anything else, and doesn't let go of my arm. Finally, I raise my head and look at her, my vision blurring.

The shock is gone, and there are a thousand emotions playing on her face. Among those I can discern are sympathy, worry, and even a vague hint of panic.

We are quiet for a long moment, just staring at each other. When Bones seems confident that I'm not going to bolt, she solely relaxes her vice-like grasp, and I look away again; Bones never breaks contact, her knuckles brushing my arm as she traces her way upwards until she touches my face, once again tilting it up so I'm force to look at her.

"It wasn't your fault." I shake my head vehemently, but her fingers press just a little and stop me. "You did everything correctly, Booth. You had no reason to suspect it was me and not the murderer. And you certainly can't take the blame for losing the signaling device, which is what I assume happened. It was a high stress situation, and your adrenaline would have been at elevated levels, which caused you to act on instinct-"

"Stop," I say, my tone more pleading than forceful. "Please, just…just stop." I draw a shaky breath. "I could've killed you, Bones."

"But you didn't," Her tone is familiar; it's the one she gets when she knows she's using irrefutable logic, with no possible arguments. "I'm fine. Everything's okay…it doesn't matter."

I want to tell her that it does matter, that everything isn't okay. That she's going to be in pain, that she's already been in pain, and it's because of me. That I can still feel the gun in my hand, see her crumpled on the floor, even when she's sitting here looking up at me. I want to say all these things, but my throat is too tight to speak.

"What happened to your hand?"

I flush, forgetting momentarily who I'm talking to. "I fell, during the shoot-out, when I dropped the walkie-talkie…"

She cups the cast in her hand, looking at it. "Breaking a fall would fracture distill radius, not proximal phalanges. That break would most likely result from…" Her voice falters, and her eyes flit from the cast to me before she softly finishes, "Hitting something."

I sigh, and mutter, "The wall in the basement."

"Oh, Booth…"

"Bones, you don't get it, okay? When I saw it was you…God, Bones, I was so stupid-"

"It doesn't matter."

"But you could have-"

"It doesn't matter." She attempts a smile. "It's not as though I've never shot you, is it? We can call it even."

I push the chair back and stand up almost violently. "_Don't! _Don't even try to compare it…it's not the same!"

"Well, rationally, I understand there's a difference between a penetrating bullet wound and a graze wound, but in the long run, the incidents will be equally inconsequential."

I shake my head vigorously, words failing. I can't do this anymore; I can't be here.

"Booth, please don't walk out again," She sounds exasperated, but it's laced with desperation.

I stop at the door, my back to her.

Her voice comes from behind me. "With everything that's happened, you really think this should change anything?" When I don't answer, she continues, "Especially what happened…a few months ago, this is nothing compared to that."

The hesitant way she refers to the shooting at the Checkerbox makes me think o f Angela's earlier words, about how she's been paranoid since then. I push these thoughts out of my mind and, in answer to her statement, say, my voice strained, "It's _different. _You didn't shoot me, then, that Pam woman did."

"But…but she was aiming at me."

"It's _different_." I repeat. I press my left palm hard again the wall, trying to resist the urge to punch something again.

"I know it is," Bones says quietly. "But I don't care, Booth, I don't-"

"_I_ care!" I yell, the volume of my voice startling both of us. Bones falls silent, and after a moment I stammer, "I-I'm sorry. I just, I can't…I can't be here…"

This time she doesn't protest when I walk out the door.

When I stalk through the waiting room, it's a repeat of earlier, but this time I don't let Angela stop me. I ignore the questions from her and Cam, pushing past them and not slowing until I'm outside the building.

* * * * *

When I get home I call Cullen, as instructed. He wants me to fill out a report about what happened, but he says he's already explained it. All I have to do is meet with Sweets until he can give me clearance for field status.

"It's not about any mistake you made," he's quick to add. "they want to make sure you aren't too rattled by what happened…just a formality, shouldn't take more than one session." I don't say anything. After a beat, Cullen adds, "We found your gun at the scene, as well….soon as Sweets gives you the okay, you'll get that back, too."

I grimace at the very thought of it. I don't want that gun.

I hang up on Cullen without saying goodbye, just after he tells me I'm supposed to meet with Sweets tomorrow ("Just tell him what he needs to hear to clear you, okay?").

About two minutes after I hang it up, my cell phone buzzes. I glance at the screen, and ignore the call. It's Angela, my third missed call from her since I left the hospital.

I know what she wants, but I'm not going back. I can barely look at Bones right now, especially when _she's_ trying to make _me_ feel better. I don't want her sympathy, or her forgiveness, or her bizarre ability to brush off a gunshot wound.

I don't understand why she isn't disgusted with me. Why she can't admit that I let her down, that I broke her trust.

The phone buzzes again; the interval between phone calls is decreasing, which I take to mean that Angela's getting both increasingly urgent and annoyed.

I ignore it again, and reach over and switch the phone to silent.

Then I do something I rarely do. I go the kitchen and pour myself a drink. When I down the first glass, I refill.

Generally speaking, I am not a proponent of the 'drink away the pain' method; I've seen the flaws in the method firsthand. Right now, though, I'm grateful for even a short term solution.

I want to get that image out of my head. I want to forget the feel of the gun in my hand, pulling the trigger. When I took the shot, I didn't realize there was anything ominous about it; still, every moment is etched into my memory.

Along with Bones' expression when I first told her, before she had time to process it and put on a face for me: that absolute shock.

About twenty minutes later, I've got a decent fog beginning to settle, when there's a loud knock on the door, loud and persistent.

For a second, I'm certain it's Angela, showing up in person to give me whatever message I'd ignored on the phone. I walk over, only somewhat shaky on my feet, ready to tell her to leave me alone and go back to Bones; haven't I already proved _I'm _no good for her right now?

"Daddy!" As soon as I open the door I'm hit with the whirlwind that is my son on a Friday night, wrapping his arms around my legs.

I blink at Rebecca in confusion; I'd forgotten this arrangement. In an effort to cover my surprise, I say, "You're awfully late with him…"

"It's only nine, Seeley."

Nine? My God, this day has seemed endless. Sure I knew it had been early when we'd began our stake out, but maybe the darkness of the basement had confused me. Or the long wait in the hospital had made time seem slower.

Rebecca keeps talking, "I told you I couldn't bring him until Brent's parents left from dinner…" She stops abruptly and stares at me, one eyebrow arched. I sigh under her appraisal, and can almost read her mind as she takes in my bloodshot eyes and the smell of alcohol.

Her eyes flash, and she hisses, "My _God_, Seeley…." Raising her voice, she addresses Parker, "Parker, go back to the car. Wait with Brent."

Parker spins around, "But _Mom_-"

"No buts, Parker."

Parker clings to my legs, lower lip jutting out; he can be a champion whiner when he wants to. It involves putting extra emphasis on the majority of his words. "But _Mom_, you _said_ I was staying with _Dad_ for the whole _weekend_."

"Parker, I mean it. Go to the car, _right now_."

The severity of her tone is not one Rebecca gets very often, and even Parker seems to sense her seriousness. Sniffling, he gives me a sort of pleading look, but turns and heads outside.

Immediately Rebecca storms her way into the house. "What the _hell_, Seeley? Are you _drunk_?"

"No…I…I'm sorry, I completely forgot-"

"Yeah that's obvious," she says poisonously. "Parker has been looking forward to this all week, and now you make _me_ look like the bad guy, you unbelievable _ass_…"

My stomach twists, and my sons face, disappointed and hurt, flashes in my mind. I am sick with self-revulsion. One day, and I've managed to let down the two people I care about more than anything in the world.

This thought makes my chest tighten, and I involuntarily make a sound that sounds somewhere between a gasp and a sob. "I'm sorry," I'm not positive I'm talking to Rebecca. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

She looks vaguely alarmed now; the venom is less potent in her voice, at least. "Seeley, what the hell is going on? And what did you do to your hand?"

I numbly make my way over to the couch and sit, my head dropping into my arms. Rebecca stays where she is, staring at me, wide-eyed. "Bones…there was a shoot-out…she's in the hospital…"

"Oh, God…" Rebecca tentatively moves a little closer, still not sitting. "I'm sorry, Seeley." She hesitates. "Is she going to be alright?"

"I-I think so. But…" I close my eyes, not even sure why I'm telling her this. To explain myself, maybe. "It was me. I shot her."

Rebbaca's mouth rounds into a perfect O. "Wh…_how_?"

"It was an accident," I say shakily. "I thought she was the killer…we were separated, and she thought I was shot, so she ran out to check…"

"I'm sorry…I really am." Rebecca says quietly. She puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes, then stands up. "I'll explain it to Parker…you can take him next weekend."

"Thanks."

"Do you…want a ride to the hospital?"

I shake my head, staring at my hands.

"Alright. Just don't drive yourself, alright, Seeley?"

"Won't." I don't bother explaining that I'm not going back to the hospital, that I can't. "I really am sorry."

"It's okay," she replies sincerely, but even so, I feel even worse when she leaves, something I wouldn't have thought possible.

Not twenty minutes later, roughly the length of the drive back to Rebecca and Brent's place, the house phone rings. I glance at the Caller ID and pick it up, "Hello?"

"Dad?"

"Hey, little man," I say, my voice rough around the edges. There's a lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. "I'm sorry about tonight, Parks. I know we had a plan all worked out…"

"It's okay," he says matter-of-factly. "Mom said Bones got bad hurt and you were sad. And I know Bones is your best friend, so I understand why you'd be sad."

The lump expands. "Thanks, buddy."

There's silence on the other end, and I can hear rustling that sounds like he's shifting the phone; when he speaks again, his voice is small, "Is Bones hurt _really really_ bad?"

Hot tears sting my eyes, and I blink rapidly to hold them back, even though Parker can't see me. "She was hurt pretty bad, Parks…she was shot, but she's alright now. She's awake, and the doctors fixed her up."

"How did she get shot?" I can hear Rebecca in the background, "Parker, don't bug your dad, okay?"

"A bad man was shooting, and we had to go get him," I say after a long pause. This is the simplest way I can think to tell him, and I hope he won't ask for more details.

Thankfully, Parker seems to accept this. "Oh." He pauses, then adds, "Next time you go after a bad guy, you can make sure he doesn't hurt Bones, right, Dad? You can protect her extra careful and make sure she doesn't get hurt bad again, can't you, Dad?"

His voice, that innocent faith, does me in. A few tears escape and streak down my face. I want to say _I'll try my best_, but the words stick in my throat. I can hear Rebecca hastily cutting him off, "Okay, Parker, it's bedtime. Say good night to Dad…"

"Good night, Dad. I love you."

"I love you, too," I choke out.

"When you see Bones, can you tell her I said hi and I hope she's better? And maybe she can come over when I come see you next weekend, if she's better?"

"I'll tell her, Parks." I manage.

"Okay. Night, Dad!"

He hangs up, and I sit holding the phone until the silence turns to a persistent dial tone.

I drop the cordless phone from my hands and sit numbly on the couch for a few minutes, trying to clear my head. I don't want to feel anything; I don't want to think about anything.

There's an unfinished glass of Scotch on the kitchen counter. I stand and walk toward it, my left hand wrapping around the glass. I hold it for a moment, then, suddenly utterly sick of myself, I slam the glass down on the counter as hard as I can, shattering it.

A sliver of glass slices the left side of my palm, under the pinkie finger, and I watch, horrified, as blood spreads across the inside of my hand, the hand I'd pressed to Bone's side.

I run to the sink, letting cold water flow over the cut, watching the blood stain the sink. I grab the closest towel with the hand in the cast, awkwardly rubbing my hand, hard, ignoring the stinging.

My vision blurs, and I can feel my blood on my hand and see her blood on my hand and I scrub and scrub until my skin is raw and my wrist aches, but I still can't stop feeling it.

* * * * *

I wake up in the middle of the night only two hours after I managed to fall asleep, trembling, my throat raw from screaming. My face is soaked in cold sweat. A sudden bitter, acidic taste of bile rises in the back of my throat, and I roll quickly out of bed, barely able to stumble into the bathroom before I vomit.

Moments later, I'm crouched in the floor of my bathroom, shaking hand gripping cool porcelain.

The nightmare was predictable. Everything was the same for most of it; the real thing was enough of a nightmare. But this time, the blood had come faster, soaking through my fingers, flowing onto the floor, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop it. And this time, the paramedics hadn't come, and her heart had stopped beating right beneath my hands, leaving me to sit helplessly as she left me, my hands soaked with blood.

Her blood on my hands. It seems my subconscious has the same awareness of symbolism as my old high school English teacher.

I have to see her. All my panic from earlier is gone, and suddenly I _need_ to be at the hospital, see for myself that she's alive and breathing.

It's two in the morning, and I'm sure there's some sort of visiting hour restriction, but I don't care. I throw on jeans and a sweatshirt, making sure to grab my badge in case it can help me get in to see her.

The drive to the hospital is one of those instances where I can't remember how I got from one place to the other. I take the elevator to Bones' floor, and the corridors are surprisingly quiet and vacant. We are in recovery, I suppose, so it's likely to be less urgent then some areas.

I crack the door to Bones' just enough so I can peer in. Angela's asleep in a cushioned chair in one corner of the room, looking distinctly uncomfortable; but somewhere in the back of my mind I can remember a comment Hodgins made once about Angela being able to sleep anywhere, and heavily. With this in mind, I chance stepping further into the room, moving closer to the bed.

Bones is asleep, and she looks so vulnerable it breaks my heart a little. They must have her on painkillers to help her sleep, so I take another chance and move close to her, softly stroking her hair with my fingers.

"I'm sorry," I whisper brokenly. None of this should have happened. She deserves better than this. Better than me.

I watch her sleep, watch the reassuringly consistent heart monitor glowing next to the bed, as long as I dare. Then, I stand to go, pressing a gentle kiss against her head before I quietly leave the room.

* * * * *

I meet with Sweets the next day. I settle into the familiar chair, surprised by how keenly I'm aware of Bones' absence, the chair she usually takes seeming overly conspicuously next to mine.

He tries none of his usual annoying tactics, like the silence until I speak, or feigned casualness. Instead, he begins with, "How are you doing, Agent Booth?" When I shrug, he informs me, "Dr. Brennan is doing quite well. The doctors want to keep her for observation a bit longer, but they think she'll be okay to release within the next few days. After that, a couple sessions of physical therapy and she'll be just fine."

I feel an irrational flash of anger that Sweets knows this and I don't, but quell it instantly; it's my own fault, of course. All of this is.

When I fail to respond to his update, he clears his throat and gets to business. "The purpose of these sessions is to verify that you aren't too….traumatized by the incident. To get you ready to resume field duty as usual. So I think we should start with the fact that you left the hospital yesterday…"

I'm not forthcoming any comments on this topic, so after a pause, Sweets loses the "helpful, insightful shrink" tone and says quietly, "Angela says she tried calling you several times."

"Yeah, well…she just wanted me to come back to the hospital."

"But you didn't want to?"

I scoff. "Well, obviously, or I wouldn't have left."

"You told Dr. Brennan what happened." It isn't a question. "I got the impression she wasn't upset with you-"

"Well she should be," I interject angrily.

Sweets stares at me for a long moment, his annoying, 'pondering' look in place. "So, your reluctance to see Dr. Brennan has nothing to do with her inability to forgive you, but your inability to forgive yourself…and, with that, your unwillingness to accept her forgiveness, which you don't feel like you deserve."

I fold my arms across my chest. He's dead-on, of course, as usual. But there's other stuff, too. I could tell him all about the nightmare and the drinking and the blood and the conversation with Parker…that's enough to make a shrink go crazy. But I keep my mouth shut.

I'm saved from answering when the door opens, and Cullen appears in the room. He nods at us. "Sweets, Booth…"

Sweets frowns, "I'm sorry, sir, but this is a closed session, on your own recommendation-"

"Closed session, I know, I'm not staying." He faces me. "Just wanted to make sure you showed…never really answered one way or the other on the phone yesterday." His expression and tone make it clear he isn't happy with me, but I don't care. Then, he holds out my gun. "Figured I'd return this to you, as well…"

Sweets protest, "Isn't it typical to withhold the gun until his field status has been reinstated…"

He keeps talking, and Cullen might be arguing with him, but I don't hear a word of it. I'm staring at the gun, momentarily paralyzed.

_A flash of movement; the barrel warm in my hand, the instinctual pull o f the trigger, a shot I've taken thousands of times before…_

"…you aren't evaluating him this time because he shot recklessly, Sweets, what the hell difference does a gun make-"

"I don't want it," I say abruptly, and both of them turn to stare at me. "I don't want it, I…I won't shoot it. I will _not_ shoot that thing."

Both of them look rather taken aback by the vehemence of my protests, but Sweets recovers first, "It's understandable, of course…this gun will connect him to the incident yesterday-"

Cullen interrupts, "Fine, that's fine…we'll get you a new gun, top notch. How 'bout that, Booth?"

"No."

Cullen blinks at me, bewildered. "No, what?"

I'm shaking my head, eyes still on the gun in his hands. My palms are starting to itch, and I remind myself rationally that there's nothing on them, not anymore. "Just no. I don't want that gun. I don't want a new gun…I can't, I won't shoot one." Jesus, I don't want to even touch one. I doubt I'll ever be able to get rid of the way that shot felt; I won't help remind myself.

Cullen gives an incredulous little laugh, his eyes displaying no humor. "Booth, be reasonable! You can't go in the field without a gun."

I look him dead in the eye. "Yeah. I know I can't."

_Thanks to all those who added the story to your alerts and favorites…review away, please! _


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks to all who reviewed! Loved them. Sorry this one took a little longer, but I'm thinking I could probably get another chapter up this weekend…with the proper motivation (hint, hint). Enjoy._

Chapter Four

When I say the thing about field work, and the fact that I can't do it without a gun, there's a vein in Cullen's neck that starts pulsing.

It's Sweets who calms him down, insists that it's going to take some time, some more sessions. He sounds a little smug to be honest; I get the impression Cullen pulled the whole "just a formality, one session tops" line with him, too.

I sit in silence as Sweets convinces Cullen that he can fix me. It would be pointless to tell him he's wrong.

We don't get much else done that session, but Sweets says I have to come back Monday.

The next few days are all the same. Sessions with Sweets, where he makes me talk about what happened, tries to get me to admit that it wasn't my fault. However, he is equally persistent in examining the issue of why I won't go see Bones, which makes me think Angela is leaning on him; I ignore about five phone calls a day from her, as well as several from Cam, and I don't listen to the voicemails. After the sessions I do paperwork in my office for as long as my hand can stand it. I order take-out, go home and watch ESPN. Sometimes I drink. Eventually I fall asleep for a few hours, until the nightmare wakes me up. Then I lie awake, resisting the urge to return to the hospital, until it's time to get up and go to my session, starting it all again.

And I think about her, and I replay the moment. Every second of every day.

Wednesday, five days After, Sweets says, "Deputy Director Cullen tells me he brought you a new gun."

I'm fiddling with my tie, and answer mildly, "He's wasting his time." I look up. "I told him I didn't want that."

Sweets nods. "Why is that?"

I make a face to show I know how dumb this question is. Stuff like this is why I hate therapy; he has a point to make, but we have to take the long way there. "Maybe because I shot my partner, Sweets. Do_ you_ think I should have a gun?"

"It's already been determined that the shooting was not a reckless act…do you honestly not trust yourself with a gun anymore? You believe there is a high chance of something like this happening again?"

I grit my teeth. He knows that isn't it, not really. "Do _you_ think I won't be a little…nervous about it? Hesitant to shoot, even if it's necessary?"

"Do you?"

"Obviously, since I'm the one that said it."

Sweets nods again. "Perhaps that is a valid concern." He leans forward. "But I don't think that's what's going on here." I'm quiet, and after a moment of scrutiny, he presses, "Agent Booth?"

I don't want to do this; I don't want to spill my every thought to Sweets, but for some reason, I just start talking, my voice quiet, "I can still _see _it, Sweets. I can still…I can _feel _the fuckin' gun in my hand, like I just pulled the trigger. I can see her just…" I pause; my throat is dry. "…just collapsing like that. I got a little closer and then I…I think the first thing I saw that made me realize was her, her hair."

Some distant, disconnected part of my brain knows I sound about five years old, all quivery and croaky, and as much as this part wants me to shut up, I keep talking.

"I can't sleep. I see it when I close my eyes, and then I dream about it and wake up screaming, It's with me every minute of every day and...and if I get a gun, I…" My voice falters; this is the part that's hard to explain. "It'll feel even closer. I don't want to shoot one, I don't want to _touch_ one…It's too close already."

Sweets looks at me thoughtfully for a long moment, probably to make sure I'm not going to start talking again. Then he says, "Is that why you're reluctant to see Dr. Brennan? Because it will 'feel even closer'?"

I look away. He's taking a risk; every time he brings it up I refuse to acknowledge it. "Maybe. I don't know…" Heaving a shaky sigh, I add, "I _want_ to see Bones. Every night when I wake up…all I want to do is go see her, remind myself she's okay. But…I _can't_. I can't look at her. Because in the hospital…she looked at me the same way as always. And she shouldn't."

Sweets nods. "You feel Dr. Brennan should be angry at you?"

"She shouldn't look at me the same, is all."

I leave soon after that, and I can tell from the look on Sweets' face that he thinks we're getting somewhere. We aren't. Me talking about my feelings doesn't make them go away, in the same way understanding why I don't want a gun or why I can't go see Bones doesn't suddenly make me able to do it.

When I get back to my office, though, something occurs to me. It's Wednesday. On Saturday, Sweets reported that Bones would be released with the next few days. I have no idea if she's out by now; I guess I'd assumed someone would update me. But Sweets hasn't mentioned it, and I've been ignoring Angela and Cam's calls.

Thinking about it causes a pang in my chest; I miss Bones. Sometimes all the other stuff, the pain and the guilt and the self-revulsion, gets in the way of the fact that I just plain _miss _her. But I do.

I think about running back to Sweets' office to ask if Bones is out of the hospital yet, but I resist. For all I know, he's been instructed to withhold information from me.

That night, when I can't sleep, I have a moment of weakness and call Bones' apartment from my house phone. It rings once and I lose my nerve, hanging up without knowing one way or the other.

* * * * * *

When I get to Sweets' office the next morning, I walk right into his office, but he's nowhere to be seen. Instead, Angela is sitting in his chair.

I freeze momentarily, while Angela smiles tightly, "Oh. Good. You _ar_e _alive."_

The heat rises to my face, and I feel inexplicably obligated to come up with some kind of excuse about the missed phone calls. "Look, about everything…"

She holds up a hand. "Not interested right now. I'm here to give you another chance." I blink at her, uncomprehending. "Brennan's being discharged today. In about an hour. You're going to go pick her up."

I'm shaking my head before she finishes talking. "Angela, I can't-"

Her dark eyes flash. "It wasn't a question, Booth. She's been in the hospital almost a week, and you haven't been back since the first day. You haven't even called her. Now _fix_ it."

"I couldn't go back, okay? I couldn't see her like, see her face-"

"What the hell are you talking about?! She isn't mad at you! She _told_ you that!"

I grimace. "I know that. That's the problem. I fucking _shot_ her, Angela, and she just acts like it's nothing! It's not nothing, it's all I can think about…and when I see her…" My face twists. "It just reminds me how bad I messed up."

Angela is quiet for a long time, and for a moment I think I got to her, but her expression slowly melds into one of disgust. "You're a selfish asshole, you know that? All week she's needed to see you-"

"Did Bones say that?"

Angela rolls her eyes at me. "No, but she wouldn't, would she? But she asked about you the first day or so…making sure you weren't in trouble, worrying that you thought she was upset…but then she stopped mentioning you." Angela regards me coldly. "I guess she got the message."

Shame burns in my gut. "It wasn't…it's not like that. I wanted to see her, all the time, but I-"

"You _couldn't_. Yeah, you said. And you don't feel guilty about that?"

I laugh humorlessly, "I feel guilty about a lot of things at the moment."

Angela isn't sympathetic. "If you ask me, you're feeling it for the wrong thing. One was an accident. The other's a choice you made, one you're _still_ making, right now."

I look away from her, my voice flat. "I'm sorry. I'm know you don't understand this…"

"No, I don't." Angela sighs, and I can hear the effort it's taking to get rid of a bit of the anger in her voice, "So what now? You're just…never going to see her again? You work together!"

I don't know what to say. I don't want to tell Angela that I don't see myself going back into the field, and I definitely don't want to tell her that I haven't given the future any thought; that none of this is long term. This new reality, the reality that arrived when I pulled that trigger, has been hard enough existing in for the past six days. The idea that it's permanent, that I will forever be living with what happened, is too horrible to contemplate yet.

Angela doesn't seem to be waiting for a response, as she continues, "And even if you didn't, you can't just walk out on her. You're….you're Booth and Brennan! I _know_ how much you care about her-"

"Of _course_ I do!" I interrupt, sorrow evident in my voice. "That's why…that's why I can't stand myself! That's why I can't believe I did this." I turn away abruptly, fingers massaging my forehead in an effort to calm down.

When Angela speaks again, her voice is softer, "Just go _see_ her, Booth. Please. You'll feel better, I promise." When I don't answer, she adds, "She needs you."

I whirl around violently. "No, she doesn't! She needs someone who'll look out for her, someone she can _trust_-"

Angela looks near tears, but she's also frustrated, "You _do_ look after her! And Bren does trust you, she trusts you with her _life_!" At the expression on my face, Angela seems to realize her mistake, and her eyes close, anticipating my response before I even say it.

"And look what _that_ did." I say, my voice raw and dangerously quiet

* * * * *

Half an hour after Angela leaves, Sweets comes to my office, his expression guarded. "I…I was wondering when you might have a chance to come down for the session."

I don't look up from my desk. "I was there this morning. You weren't. Not my problem."

He flushes. "Angela asked if I would…make myself scarce for awhile. She thought she could convince you to go see Dr. Brennan."

"Yeah, well, she was wrong."

Even though I haven't asked him to, Sweets sits himself down in the chair opposite my desk. "When _are_ you planning on seeing Dr. Brennan?"

I stare at him, annoyed. "Have you been talking to Angela?"

"No, why? Did she ask you that, too."

I avoid his eyes and ignore this. "I…don't have any immediate plans to see Bones, alright? I'm not cleared for work, so…" I shrug.

Sweets gives me a look of almost amused skepticism. "Come on, Agent Booth. Over the past two years, I haven't only been observing the dynamics of your professional partnership…it's obvious you and Dr. Brennan share a deep emotional bond as well." He looks at me. "You two are wicked close. You care about each other, you stick up for each other, you're there for each other…the fact that you aren't working together at the moment does not mean you're out of each other's lives."

I shift uncomfortably, just as unsure about what to say as I was with Angela earlier. Eventually, I make a big show of returning my attention to some of the papers on my desk. "I don't remember agreeing to a session, Sweets. Stick the appointment time tomorrow…when I have no choice but to be there. Until then…" I wave him unceremoniously at the door.

* * * * *

Rebecca drops Parker off Friday afternoon to spend the night. I've been looking forward to it, desperate for the distraction. However, this theory doesn't pan out as I'd expected.

"How's Bones?" Parker asks straightaway.

"She's good," I tell him. "She's home from the hospital and everything."

He beams up at me. "Can we go see her?"

I swallow. "Better not do that, yet, buddy. Bones needs to rest."

"Oh." He sighs, disappointed. "I made her a get-well card at school yesterday. I wanted to give it to her."

He rummages in his book bag and pulls out the car, slightly crumpled, and hands it over proudly. On the front are three stick figures who I'm pretty sure are supposed to be Bones, Parker and I; he's drawn some skeleton parts around the girl figure. At the top is says in thick black crayon "Git Wel Soon Bones!" and on the inside, simply, "Love, Parker."

My throat tightens, but I give him my best attempt at a smile. "I'll give it to her, how about that?"

He smiles. "Cool, thanks."

I put the card on the counter, thinking I'll probably end up sending it with Sweets. That pang in my chest is back, and I stand with my back to my son, trying to swallow away the lump in my throat away.

For the next several hours, I throw myself into everything we're doing. We go to the park and switch from football to baseball to a Frisbee, and when the playground area begins to clear of toddlers, I push Parker on the swings. We stay until sunset, and then we go to Parker's favorite burger place and eat burgers, fries and milkshakes.

It is the lightest I have felt all week. I am finally able to throw myself into something, and I am grateful for every bit of it.

Parker falls asleep half an hour earlier than he usually does, clearly tired out from the afternoon we had.

I'm pretty wiped, too, not only from the afternoon, but from the lack of sleep of the week. So I head to bed pretty soon after, and for the first time since it happened, I fall asleep fairly quickly.

* * * * *

I'm laying on the floor of the basement, my feet tangled in the pile of chains that made me trip.

My hand closes on my gun, but I don't get up. I feel around, gunshots echoing in my ears, looking for the walkie talkie.

The murderer, he's shooting at me, and I have to roll out of the way before I can get the signaling device.

I keep looking, but he's running toward where Bones is, so I leap up and follow him; darkness closes in, and I can't see anything. I draw my gun waiting.

He steps out, his eyes wide. I'm about to fire when he changes.

Bones stares back at me, her expression frozen in shock. I open my mouth to say her name, but nothing comes out.

I want to drop the gun, but my hand won't listen.

"Booth?"

I pull the trigger.

She still stands, a spot of red appearing on the side of her shirt even though I shot her dead on. The spot grows, the blood dripping, and then she's falling…

Screams rip from my throat, and I'm yelling her name, her nickname, and I move forward to catch her, my hand still clutching the gun as if they've been welded together.

"Dad! Daddy, wake up! _DAD!"_

My eyes fly open. Parker is shaking my shoulder, staring down at me, pale and frightened.

I'm shaking like mad, my heart beating double time. "Parker," I gasp. My son's eyes are huge. As I try to slow my breathing, I put a hand on his shoulder in what I hope is a reassuring manner; the problem is, my hand's trembling.

"You were yelling really loud," Parker says solemnly. "And when I came in you were moving around a lot."

"I'm sorry, buddy. I'm sorry I scared you," My voice is still hoarse. "I was just having a bad dream."

Parker nods a little. "About Bones getting shot?" When I just stare at him, still not awake enough to figure out how he knows this, Parker informs me, "You said her name a couple times. Well, you yelled it."

"Right…" I run a shaky hand over my face. "Yeah, buddy, I had a bad dream about Bones getting shot…I was with her and it was pretty scary."

Parker nods understandingly. "Do you want me to stay in here with you? Cuz when I have a bad dream, you or mom come sleep with me, and I almost never have the dream when I fall back to sleep."

I pull him toward me for a hug, tears clouding my vision. "Thanks, little man," I whisper into his ear. "That'd be good."

He crawls under the covers with me, wriggling up against me. "Dad?"

"Yeah, bud?"

"You should go see Bones tomorrow. And if you go before Mom comes to get me, I can go to and give her my card. And then you won't worry about your bad dream."

"Mom's coming to get you around lunchtime, remember? She's taking you to see Grandma and Grandpa, so I don't think we'll have time-"

"You should go, then." I can hear the drowsiness in his voice, so I just murmur something noncommittal.

"Night, Dad."

"Night, Parks."

Parker's asleep in minutes, but I lay awake for the rest of the night.

* * * * * *

Parker leaves around twelve Saturday morning, reminding me about three more times to give Bones his card when I go see her.

Rebecca asks about her as they go out the door, "How's Dr. Brennan?"

"She's good. Thanks. They released her, um…Thursday."

She glances at me, "And what about you?"

"I'm alright."

Parker looks up at her. "Dad had a nightmare about Bones getting shot. He was screaming and moving around a lot."

"Seeley…"

"But it was okay cuz I went and stayed in his bed with him and made him feel better."

My face is red, and Rebecca is looking at me with more sympathy than I want, so I try to brush it off. "You sure did." I bend down and hug him. "I had fun, little man. I love you."

"Love you, too."

Rebecca puts a hand on Parker's shoulder. "Hey, Parks, Brent's waiting in the car, can you go on out? Give me a chance to talk to your Dad?"

He nods and waves at me; I'm already dreading this talk/

Parker pushes past Rebecca and is barely out of sight when I hear his voice, exclaiming gleefully, "BONES!"

Rebecca turns around, and all my insides seize up, my heart flying forward.

Bones appears in the doorway, Parker hugging her around the middle; she looks a little surprised, but also pleased. "Hey, Parker…hi, Rebecca."

Rebecca smiles warmly at her. "Good to see you again. How are you feeling?"

"Perfectly fine, thanks." Her eyes flit over to me; I haven't moved. "I was released from the hospital on Thursday, although frankly I think that was several days later than necessary."

"Well, I'm glad to hear you're-"

"Bones, Bones." Parker tugs on her sleeve. "I made you a card. Hold on…" He dashed to the counter, leaving about two seconds of silence as I tried not to meet Bones' eyes. Parker returned and handed it to her, flushed with excitement.

Bones' breaks into a smile. "That's very sweet of you Parker. Thank you." She puts on arm around him for a sort of side hug, but Parker put both his arms around her again, squeezing hard enough to Bones wince.

Rebecca quickly tries to extract Parker. "Easy, Parks, you're hurting Dr. Brennan."

"Oh, he's fine." She smiles warmly at him. "Thank you very much for my card, Parker."

Parker grins at her. "You're welcome. I was going to have Dad give it to you when he saw you, but this is even better."

Rebecca meets my eyes, clearly noticing the fact that I've stood dumbly in place since Bones came in. "Okay, Parker, we need to be-"

Parker interrupts, still addressing Bones, "Did it hurt when you got shot?"

"A little. Not too bad, though, because the doctors worked pretty fast to make it better." Bones doesn't usually believe in lying to kids, and I can't help but wonder if this understatement is for his benefit or mine.

"That's good," Parker tells her seriously. "Because I think Dad was really scared. We came last weekend right after, cuz I was s'posed to stay here. But Mom took me home and said Dad was sad because you were hurt. That's why I stayed last night instead. But even last night Dad had a bad dream, and he was yelling so loud it woke me up. I even guessed what it was about because he was yelling your name. But it was okay cuz I stayed in his bed like he or Mom does when I have a bad dream."

I can feel Bones' eyes searching for mine, practically begging me to meet her gaze, but I opt to look down at my shoes.

"It's a good thing you were with him, then, Parker. I wouldn't want your Dad being scared because of me."

Rebecca interjects at that point. Part of me is relieved, but another part is dreading the moment they leave us alone. "Okay, Parker, we're running late. Tell Dad and Dr. Brennan bye."

"Bye, Bones. I'm glad you're okay. Bye Dad!"

"Bye, Parker. Thanks again for my card."

"I'll see you soon, okay, buddy?" It is a miracle that I am able to croak out a sentence.

Rebecca waves awkwardly, pulling Parker out the door. "Bye, Dr. Brennan. Bye, Seeley."

"Bye."

The door closes, and suddenly we're alone.

_That's right, guys. Booth/Brennan stuff is coming. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the parts of this chapter: Booth's stuff with Angela, and Sweets, and Parker. The button's right there…click away!_


	5. Chapter 5

_Hey everyone! Sorry I didn't end up getting this up over the weekend…you guys were great with the reviews, I just ended up having more work than I thought for classes. Anyway, I hope this chapter, completely Booth/Brennan, doesn't disappoint. There are over 70 alerts for this story…thanks to everyone who added. Now I'd love to know what you all think! Review away, and enjoy._

Chapter Five

Bones came here, which I guess is why I assume that she'll be the one to start. This assumption is also why the silence stretches a good thirty seconds after Rebecca and Parker leave.

I chance a look at her; Bones is watching me, her expression serious and infinitely patient.

"Hi."

That wasn't so bad. A word. I can do this.

"Hi," she answers.

I swallow, stuck.

Bones gives me a few seconds to try to work up to a second word, but when I don't she ventures softly, "You really had a nightmare?"

I'm running out of places to look in the apartment. Glancing at the ceiling, I mumble, "Yeah, last night…and every night."

She shuffles a little further into the apartment. "I'm sorry."

I lose it a little. "There it is again! _You_ saying you're sorry to _me_. Can you please stop doing that?!"

Bones frowns. "I didn't mean it as an actual apology; it's my understanding the expression 'I'm sorry' is often used as a mere expression of sympathy."

Blinking at her, I sigh. "Even so…I don't want you being..sympathetic to me. I don't deserve it." I look up, meeting her gaze for the first time. "Aren't you mad?"

Her eyes, that shade of blue that I can get lost in, level with mine. "At what? What happened in the basement or the fact that I haven't seen or heard from you in a week?"

The question is asked mildly, but it flusters me. "I…either." After a pause, I amend, "Both."

"I'm not angry about what happened during the stakeout, Booth," she tells me softly. "Of course I'm not. It was an accident, and there wasn't anything I would have done differently if I had been in your feet."

"Shoes," I correct quietly, a ghost of a smile flickering across my expression, feeling foreign and uncomfortable.

"Shoes, then," Bones says impatiently. "I was the one who ignored protocol and your instructions. So of course I'm not angry about that; I thought I had communicated that fact adequately when I saw you in the hospital afterwards."

Bones goes quiet, and when she doesn't expand on part two of the question, I prod tentatively, "And…the other thing?"

For the first time it's her who looks away. "I'm not angry at you for not coming back to the hospital. You have no obligation to do so, obviously, and I know you've had sessions with Sweets and other work to do so-"

"Bones," I cut her off quietly because she's talking too fast and it all sounds too rehearsed.

She glances at me again. I have said before that as good as Bones has become at building walls and creating facades, her eyes give her away every time. I look at them now, the soft, bruised blue of disappointment and hurt.

It's like she knows that I can read her, because she says, "Alright, I…I thought you would be back. I know it's been hard for you, but I still thought you'd come back. And I don't understand why you didn't."

I sigh, long and heavy; the sort of sigh that generally precedes a long-winded, complex explanation; but this one isn't really. I just don't know how good it is. "I just couldn't…I couldn't look at you." Hurt registers on her features. "You still looked at me like you always did, but that just made me feel worse. Because it was like you still trusted me, and you shouldn't." Bones looks like she's going to protest, but I shake my head. "I let you down. I'm supposed to keep you safe." I remember something Sweets said, our first session after the incident, and I paraphrase. "I can't forgive myself for this, Bones, and I can't accept the fact that you did."

"Booth…" She comes closer, her hand on my arm.

I keep speaking, "And when I saw you there, in the hospital, I just…I hated myself. I still can't believe I _did_ that, and seeing you…" I rub my face tiredly. "I didn't know what to say. How to act. I don't know how I can ever make this up to you…"

"You don't _have _to. I'm perfectly alright, there's no harm done, and there's no need for you to…repay me. That's not logical. None of that is.," There's a pleading note in her tone.

"Not everything is about logic, Bones," I tell her quietly. Then I remember why we started this talk, and I say, "I should've come back. I should've been there for you. Angela was right about me, I was being selfish."

She squeezes my arm. "It's okay."

"It's not." I meet her eyes, and suddenly it seems insane that I was keeping myself away from her.

Bones crosses her arms in front of her chest, and studies the floor. When she looks up again, she looks unsure and vulnerable. "I..I admit that I…that there were times I wanted…I wanted you there." There's a faint tinge of pink to her cheeks. She continues, "And I was worried about you, because you seemed so…upset. And I didn't want you to get in trouble-"

I shake my head. "It wasn't a problem. They said it was an accident and that I…acted appropriately, given the situation."

"They're right," she tells me, her voice heavy with significance.

I shrug noncommittally; I know her opinion, I know everyone's opinion. But that doesn't mean I agree with them. Bones and I were the only ones there, and she had no idea what was happening.

I swallow hard, and my voice shakes, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't come…I did miss you."

Her eyes are bright, and she smiles unsteadily up at me. "Me, too." She pauses, seemingly wrestling with herself as to whether to add something. "You're not the kind of man who leaves." Her voice catches, but her eyes never leave mine. "You stay." I close my eyes, shame burning, wanting to correct the obvious flaw in this statement. Then Bones continues, "But you're also the kind of man who carries the weight of the world. You like to be the one to fix things, and you blame yourself when you can't."

I think about telling her that this all sounds a little like psychology, but my breath hitches in the back of my throat and I'm pretty sure I couldn't say a word.

Bones' eyes are shimmering, but her voice is even, if a little softer than usual, when she finishes, "And that was the part of you that won out for awhile. You're still a man who stays. You just got sidetracked."

"I'm sorry," I whisper tremulously, because I don't think I will ever be able to say it enough to her.

Bones closes her eyes briefly, and then says, fierce and raw, "Don't do it again."

I nod. "Okay." I can't wait anymore. I close the gap between us and pull her against me. Bones' arms slide compliantly around me, and she tucks her head into the place between my neck and shoulder, burying her face against my shirt. I rest my forehead against her hair, breathing in the scent of her. I want this moment to replace all the shitty ones that have been swirling in my head for the past week, but I know it doesn't work like that.

We stay that way for a long time, the longest I have been allowed to hold her by far.

When I finally feel her draw back, I do, too. We give each other small, weak smiles of relief, and Bones says in a palpably reluctant tone, "I've got to go. On my way to the lab."

"It's Sunday. And you just got out of the hospital."

"Exactly. I'm hopelessly behind."

I smile a little and follow her to the front door so I can open it for her. "I'm really glad you came, Bones. You shouldn't have had to be the one to do it…but I'm glad you did."

Bones shoots me a half smile. "You would've eventually, but I didn't want to wait around." She hesitates in the doorway, and when she speaks again, a hint of worry works its way into her voice. "I'll see you soon…right?"

I lock eyes with her, promising. "Right."

Visibly relaxing, she goes out the door, adding, "They won't let me out of the lab for another week, but after that everything can just…go back to normal."

I force a smile and don't correct her.

* * * * *

I think I'm going insane.

I've spent the last week determinedly avoiding Bones, refusing to see her, and suddenly I can't go a few hours.

Ever since she left, I've been missing her. Acutely.

It wasn't as hard to see her as I'd thought it would be. At least apologizing was better than doing nothing. It still bothers me that she doesn't seem to want to hear them, doesn't think they're necessary.

It turns out I can block it out a little easier when she's around. The fact that I felt, as Sweets says, 'even closer' to what happened when I saw Bones in the hospital seems to have faded. It was a little harder to picture her crumpled on the floor, or broken and small in a hospital bed, when she was standing in front of me, same old Bones, talking about everything in terms of logic.

When she leaves, it all comes back.

I wonder what Sweets would make of this sudden change. I spend the afternoon grocery shopping, doing laundry, washing my car…anything to focus on. To stop myself from jumping in my car and driving to the lab.

After a long, endless afternoon I can't take it anymore, and around seven I call her cell.

"Brennan."

"Hey, Bones it's me." I close my eyes suddenly, my chest swelling at the familiarity of this moment. This is how we always started phone calls, several times a day in the Before. The fact that it's the same, that a moment like this is still possible now seems like a miracle.

"Booth. What's going on?" She sounds surprised, but glad, to hear from me.

"Oh, you know…I thought you might want to grab some dinner. I could pick up some Wung Fus…"

There's a small beat of silence, and then Bones' says, "That actually sounds great."

Half an hour later, I'm knocking on the door to her apartment, food containers in hand.

Bones appears, and she smiles, "Good timing, I'm famished."

I follow her, and we sit next to each other on the couch, legs drawn up sideways, leaning on the back of the couch so we're facing each other, the food spread out in the middle.

We eat in amiable silence for a few minutes, and then before I can even think about it, I blurt, "I did come back to the hospital. Once." Her brows knit together, and I hasten to explain, "The first night, actually. The first time I had the nightmare…I woke up, terrified, and I just…had to see you. So I went back. You were asleep."

"And Angela?"

I laugh a little. "Oh, yeah. Believe me, if Angela had seen me you'd have known it."

"She isn't very happy with you," Bones says mildly.

"Yeah, I got that from the way she stole my session with Sweets the other day. Not that I blame her."

Bones frowns. "So you're still meeting with him?"

I shrug, my tone casual, "Yeah. It's not a big deal. They just want to make sure I'm okay."

"What do you…talk about?"

I hesitate. "Just…the after effects. Of what happened."

"What after effects? Something besides the nightmares?" I can hear the concern in her voice, and that makes me feel awful.

"It's nothing. Really. You definitely shouldn't be worrying about me."

"Booth…" She gives me a look. The look that tells me not to bother trying to hide things from her. Bones may not have the greatest ability to read and understand people, but when it comes to me, there's an exception.

I pick up a cardboard container and fumble with it mindlessly, just to give myself something to look at when I answer. "I've had a few panicky moments. Sometimes, I swear, it's…it's like I'm back in that basement." I flex my left hand reflexively, the hand that sometimes still feels slick with blood, like a phantom pain.

Bones discards some of the food containers onto the coffee table so she can move a little closer, fixing me with an intent, troubled gaze. "I wish it didn't bother you so much. I don't remember most of it, if it's any consolation."

I smile weakly at her, because I know she's trying, and I feel bad for that. An image fixes itself in my memory; the expression on her face when I got to her in the basement. She'd been terrified, and in pain.

_Because of me. _

I look at Bones now, obviously concerned, but otherwise alright, and I have to resist the urge to hug her again.

I sigh, and my voice is heavy when I say, "I spend a lot of time just wishing I could do it differently. It happened so fast. If I'd done just _one_ _little thing_ different…if I could go back, just for a second…"

Predictably, Bones is the voice of reason. "It's not logical to dwell on that, Booth; obviously time travel is not a viable option. It happened, and it's over, and there's no benefit to contemplating something that is an impossibility."

I meet her eyes, my expression pained, "I'm not talking about what's possible, Bones. I'm talking about what I _want_, what I _wish _I could do. Haven't you ever had a moment like that…that you wanted to go back and change so bad that it _hurts_?" I'm not being melodramatic. For the past week, every time I've envisioned alternate scenarios, the various things I could have and should have done to prevent it from happening, the fact that reality is set, that I am bound to the present…it's driven me crazy, made me physically ill.

Bones' expression darkens instantly, and her answer is a vehement but quiet, "_Yes._"

I stare at her openly, surprised at the intensity in her voice. But Bones averts her gaze instantly, looking almost embarrassed, and I decide not to press it.

An awkward silence falls over us, and then Bones breaks it, her tone definitive. "Well, I suppose it's a good thing you're seeing Dr. Sweets, then. As long as they aren't keeping you from work."

I glance away guiltily and mutter something indistinguishable; Bones doesn't take any notice. Apparently her statement had only been proclaiming a fact she thought to be true; she wasn't asking a question, or checking its validity. Bones had just assumed, when I'd said earlier that I wasn't in disciplinary trouble, that I'm clear for field work.

I'm not ready to correct the assumption yet.

Bones takes the empty cartons into the kitchen to throw away, and I turn on her TV, a recent acquisition. I'm flipping through the channels and I hear Bones behind me, "_Casablanca_."

My finger pauses on the channel button, staring at the black and white movie on the screen. Bones returns to her place on the couch, "This was my favorite movie when I was younger."

"Really?" I can't remember if I've ever seen the movie all the way through, although I know the famous quotes. "It's kinda old, isn't it?"

Bones' eyes are fixed on the screen. "My dad was really into old movies. He'd rent a couple videos every week and we'd watch them…this was one of the ones we re-watched a lot."

I feel a smile tugging at my lips as I watch the soft, nostalgic expression on her face. "We could watch, if you want."

She looks at me almost shyly. "You don't mind?"

"Heck no."

She studies the screen. "It _is_ just starting."

"Perfect timing." I stand. "You have any popcorn?"

Five minutes later, the lights in living room are out and we're sitting close together on the sofa, a bowl of popcorn balanced between us. There's a pleasant, warm feeling of contentment somewhere in my chest, and it feels almost foreign after the week I've had.

Our hands brush each other accidentally while reaching for popcorn, and I have to suppress a smile like a smitten thirteen year old.

This is what I want. This is what I want life to be like. Old movies and popcorn, quiet, relaxed nights with Bones, the outside world far away.

Moments like these deceive me. They let me forget for a little bit, something I haven't been able to do as of yet. They trick me into thinking that maybe Bones is right, and what I did doesn't matter in the way I think it matters.

About an hour into the movie, I glance over and notice that Bones is asleep. I reach for the remote and mute the TV.

I watch her silently for awhile, listening to her quiet, steady breathing. It reminds of the night in the hospital, the one night I went back, albeit only briefly, that same desire to drink in every detail of her.

I'm thinking about waking her up and saying goodbye, so she can go to bed and get proper rest, but she looks so comfortable I think better of it. The footrest is out, so she's stretched out, and curled against a sofa cushion.

Standing gingerly, I grab a blanket from a nearby chair, draping it carefully over her.

I start to go, but pause for a moment, once again struck by the image.

This is what I want.

Then abruptly, the ideal image cracks.

Bones' expression twists a little, her serene slumber seemingly interrupted. She gasps, then whimpers quietly.

The sound pierces my heart, and my chest tightens painfully.

She whimpers again, flinching a little, her eyes still tightly shut. Then, her voice barely audible, she murmurs, "Booth."

My heart stills in my chest, a for a moment numbness washes over me. Then I realize…she said my name right after I got to her, in the basement.

Bones can pretend all she wants that she's unaffected, but here's proof that she isn't; all the times I admitted to having nightmares, and she never said anything.

She's shaking now, and I can't listen to it anymore. I crouch on the sofa, close to her. "Bones…" I whisper, laying my hand on her trembling shoulder. "Bones.." She flinches away, still dreaming, and I swallow hard, then say it louder, cupping her cheek gently. "Bones, wake up…"

Her eyes open with a start, and she looks lost and frightened. "Booth," she breathes shakily; her right hand closes over my wrist, the one that's touching her face. Her eyes move over every inch of my face.

"It's okay," my voice sounds calm and soothing, even though I don't feel the least bit calm. "It was just a nightmare, you're alright…"

She shakes her head a little, eyes squeezed shut, then sits up a little straighter.

"Bones," I say quietly. She looks up, meets my eyes. "You never said…you have nightmares about…about the shooting."

Her eyes widen, the little color left in her face draining rapidly. "How, how did you-" Suddenly, her expression changes, a sort of understanding dawning. "Oh, Booth, it wasn't that…I promise."

I shake my head, angry at her for lying to me, for trying to make me feel better, but mostly angry at myself for getting lured into a false sense of ease, for starting to believe what I had done was okay.

I stand to leave. "I've got to go." Three steps later, I stop, disgusted with myself, with this newfound instinct to run away. I think of Bones earlier words: _You're not a man who leaves. You stay._ I whirl. "No, I don't, I…" Flustered, I run a hand over my face. "Sorry. Are you okay? Is there something I can…" My shoulders slump. "Please tell me there's something I can do."

Bones gets to her feet and approaches me. "Booth I wasn't having a nightmare about…about you shooting me in the basement!" I flinch at the words, and Bones steps even closer, grabbing my arm with one hand. "I promise it wasn't that. I _promise_."

I shake my head fervently, looking away from her. I think about my own nightmares, the way the reality is slightly warped, emphasizing the fact that it was Bones I shot. I picture the dream image of her, standing not far away, and me unable to stop my finger from pulling the trigger.

Does Bones have similar nightmares? Does she see me too clearly, watch, paralyzed, as I point the gun.

At this thought, I'm crippled by a wave of nausea so powerful I double over slightly. Tears line the column of my throat and it feels like I'm choking. Bones' other hand comes forward, too, gripping my other arm, trying to make me still.

She repeats my name, as I fight her grip, sinking slowly to a crouch, ducking my head into my arms, sick to my stomach and fighting tears.

After a moment, I feel Bones' arm drape over my back, her hand resting on the nape of my neck, her fingers gently stroking.

This isn't right; once again, she's taking care of me. This isn't how it goes. I protect her, and I stay strong for her, and on the rare occasion she needs to break down, I'm there to let her do it.

But this is too much. Seeing her in pain, and knowing I caused it…that's the one thing I can't handle. It's the one thing that makes me fall apart, so this is what happens: she ends up worried about me, at the very time she shouldn't be.

I draw back to look at her, but she keeps her arm hooked around my neck. "I want to fix this," I tell her, my voice cracking.

"You don't have to." Tears sparkle on her eyelashes; another reason to be angry at myself. "Booth, I'm worried about you-"

"_Don't_!" I hiss fiercely. "I don't want you worrying about me, I'm the one who's worried about you."

"There's no reason for you to worry about me. We should both simply stop worrying about each other; that strategy is most advantageous.

"I can't help it."

She smiles thinly. "Well, neither can I."

I stand up shakily and grab Bones' hand to help her up. "I'm sorry to be like this…" I give her what is surely the worst attempt at a smile ever. "You're probably tired."

Bones peers at me with concern. "Are you okay to drive back?"

"Yes," I answer quickly. "I'll be fine. Sorry, again."

I turn toward the door when her voice stops me, "Booth?" Looking back, I stay silent as she adds, "I wasn't dreaming about that. Really."

I'm sure she's lying to protect me; a vain attempt to make me believe she's fine. I could point this out to her, but then we'd only start arguing, and once again it would be her worrying about me instead of the other way around. So I just nod. "Okay. Night, Bones."

"Goodnight."

That night, I don't go to sleep. I lie awake, fighting off images that are very similar to the nightmares I'm trying to avoid, and desperately hoping that back at her apartment, Bones is sleeping soundly.

_No real cliffhanger for this one, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. I ended up cutting it off at this scene because the next chapter has some pretty intense stuff I've been planning for awhile coming…so I ended this one here. I'd love to know your thoughts on the two separate scenes, from the initial confrontation to the end, with the nightmares and such. Review away, and I'll try to update fairly quickly…a Geology Exam just got pushed a week back, so this week and weekend won't be nearly as stressful, which should be good for updating._


	6. Chapter 6

_Okay, everyone. The reviews and response have been great, I really appreciate all of it. I've been busier than I thought I'd be since this weekend, so this chapter took longer than I'd hoped…but I will say, it's somewhat epic. Hopefully you see that as a good thing, because I definitely do. I warned you that this was a particularly intense chapter (in what I hope is a somewhat intense story) and I hope it delivers. I feel like it does. Very, very important Booth/Brennan stuff in this one._

_I don't usually do this, or at least haven't been with this fic, but I have to say…I listened to the song "Rain" by Patty Griffin (which was in an ep of Bones in season one) the whole time I was writing a certain scene, just on constant repeat. The song is gorgeous and heartbreakingly sad…it was really fuel for Brennan and Booth's emotions at one point. So if you'd like, check the song out on youtube or something…particularly for the second half of the scene in Booth's apartment. You'll probably know what I mean._

_Now, with your interest hopefully thoroughly peaked, read away. And as always, reviews are an amazing way to make my day better. : ) _

_Its hard to know when to give up the fight  
Two things you want will just never be right  
Its never rained like it has to night before  
Now I don't wanna beg you baby  
For something maybe you could never give  
I'm not looking for the rest of your life  
I just want another chance to live_

Strange how hard it rains now  
Rows and rows of big dark clouds  
When I'm holding on underneath this shroud  
Rain

Chapter Four

Monday morning, I tell Sweets straight away that I saw Bones, and a relieved smile breaks over his face.

"That's fantastic, Agent Booth! Very good progress…I believe this will be an important step toward-"

I cut him off, my voice flat. "Don't get too worked up there, Sweets. She came to see me, so I don't know if that exactly counts as progress."

His smile only falters for a millisecond before it's back in place. "That's alright. I take it things were okay between the two of you?"

My fingers fiddle with a loose thread on the jacket sleeve. "Yeah, fine." Sweets is quiet, waiting for the expected elaboration. Sighing, I add, "I apologized for staying away and she…" The next word still tastes bitter in my mouth, and I spit it out that way, "_forgave_ me. Again….and she's worried about me, which I hate."

I chance a glance at Sweets, hoping this is sufficient, but he nods encouragingly rather than comment.

"But we were okay. We had dinner last night, hung out a little." I can't decide whether to reveal the bit about Bones' nightmare. That seems overly personal, not something she'd want Sweets attempting to evaluate. Still, it's important, so, choosing my words carefully, I say, "I think the whole thing's affecting her more than she wants me to know. And I hate that."

Sweets writes something down. "Because it's affecting her? Or because she's hiding?"

My shoulders slump. "Both. She's putting on a front for me which is…messed up. She's the one who got hurt, and I'm the one who can't handle it."

Sweets studies me with apparent scrutiny, and it makes me uncomfortable. I think about the frightened look on Bones' face when she first woke up, the way she'd cried out, and it makes my stomach churn.

When Sweets breaks the silence, he's using the carefully formulated tone that always accompanies statements he imagines are particularly incisive. "You know, Agent Booth, it isn't an uncommon concept…the idea that it's more difficult to watch someone you…." He pauses. "…care about in pain, than to be in pain yourself."

I stare at him, and retort in a low voice, "How does that concept apply when…when I'm the _reason_?"

"I would think it would be even more applicable. Because of the guilt."

I'm quiet, drumming my fingers on the armrest of the chair. I'm tired of this. I get to spend twenty four hours a day reminding myself what I did; I'm sick of talking it to death every day, as if this could somehow help.

When Sweets reverts to the silent technique of therapy, I wait a few moments, then decide to voice these thoughts, "I don't see the point of this anymore."

He looks vaguely alarmed. "You don't see the _point_?"

I roll my eyes. "The _sessions_, Sweets. I don't see the point of these _sessions_."

Relaxing, he is quick with an answer. "Well, the point of the sessions is to allow you to come to terms with-"

"No, that's the _goal_. Your goal is to make me 'come to terms'. Cullen's goal is to get me to take a gun and get back in the field. But none of that is going to happen. This is a waste of our time."

Sweets regards me seriously, for once not dismissive to this denial. "So what is your plan?"

"My plan?"

"You've just said you won't be returning to field work. What do you plan to do?"

I stare stupidly, momentarily stumped. "I…I was offered a promotion last month. A more..administrative thing that I didn't want at the time." I hesitate, scared of the quickness I came up with this reply. "I could do something like that. Without field work."

Sweets keeps his expression neutral. "You are willing to end your field work forever? You can't see even a possibility that, over time, you may feel ready to return?" I open my mouth for a quick reply, but he interjects, "Really think about it for a moment."

So I do. I try to imagine a future moment when I can look back on what happened and not be bothered. When I may be willing to take the chance of it happening again. When I may forget even a miniscule detail of that night.

All of it is impossible.

I look Sweets in the eye and through clenched teeth, I answer him, "No. I honestly can't."

He nods once, the heaviness of the admission settling. Then Sweets counters with an even heavier question, "What does Dr. Brennan think about this?"

I blink. "What do you mean?"

"Your partnership has been a vital part of both your lives for more than three years now. What has she said about your decision to give up field work"

My face burns. "She doesn't…she doesn't know. She doesn't even know I can't work now, she thinks I'm already cleared." Eyes darting away, I mumble, "I couldn't tell her."

"And why is that?" When I'm quiet, he prods, "You think she'll be angry? Upset?"

I close my eyes. I don't want to do this to Bones, of course I don't. I don't want to think about what she may say if I tell her I'm finished, but the alternative is worse.

"What if it happens again?" I whisper quietly.

Sweets stares at me, as always waiting to make sure I won't go on, before flipping through the pad of paper in front of him. "We've addressed this before, Agent Booth…the recklessness of your action was never called into question. And I don't believe your problem is a genuine fear that you will accidentally…injure Dr. Brennan again."

I close my eyes, shaking my head before he even finishes speaking. "It was a matter of time and…and it could happen again." I open my eyes but I'm not really looking at Sweets; memories assault me, some of the more terrifying moments of my life. "That time she got kidnapped by that bastard Kenton…I sent her off with him. I should have known better. And, and she talks about how I took a bullet for her…but the only reason that happened was because of me. Because I somehow ended up…_encouraging _that woman. So she almost shot Bones. And now…" My face twists. "Now _I shot_ her. And you really think something won't happen again?" I lean back in my chair, arms folded in front of me. "This is better. This is the best thing."

Silence settles for a good minute or so; Sweets doesn't prod further, and I don't offer to expand. When he finally speaks, it's only a quiet, "Time's up."

I stand instantly, not sure whether we ever reached an agreement on the whole 'these sessions are pointless' issue, until Sweets tentatively adds, "For the record Agent Booth…although I can't stop you from seeing Deputy Director Cullen about a…reassignment…" He hesitates. "I do honestly believe you could benefit from continued sessions. I've said from the beginning this will be a process, but I'm not discouraged by any means."

I smile humorlessly. "Is that your way of telling me I still have to show up to these?"

He nods a little sheepishly. "They _are_ mandated by your boss at this stage. And as I said, I think you'll end up seeing the merit."

I don't bother to correct him. He won't accept it. No one will; I'll have to get used to that. "I'll see ya, Sweets."

"Agent Booth?" I turn, shooting him an impatient look. "Dr. Brennan is back at the lab today."

"Yeah, Sweets, I know. She came by yesterday too. Of course."

"Yes. But today she's back at the lab along with Dr. Hodgins and Dr. Saroyan and Angela…all of whom will be able to tell her about your currently…_inactive_ status."

I pause in the doorway; this thought hadn't occurred to me. Before I can process it further, Sweets adds, "I would also encourage you to talk to Dr. Brennan before you make any permanent decision."

* * * * *

It turns out Sweets is pretty perceptive, because hours later, when I'm about fifteen minutes away from heading home, the door to my office bursts open and Bones enters, definitely perturbed. Without so much as a greeting, she demands, "Why didn't you say anything, Booth?"

I blink at her, too taken aback by her sudden presence to react properly. "Sorry?"

"Cam told me your field status is still inactive because of the incident. According to her, Sweets has to clear you and hasn't yet. So I came here with the intention of confronting him, informing that you aren't the least bit hazardous in the field…and _he_ in turn informed me that it isn't up to him at this point, because _you_ apparently refuse to carry a gun?!" There's an incredulous note in her voice for this last part, as though Bones half expects me to tell her that Sweets is full of it.

I don't stand up from my desk chair. I hold her gaze for a long moment, than admit quietly, "He's right."

Her eyes widen. "Can't you see how illogical that is? Booth, you are not _dangerous_."

I can't look at her; this isn't the type of thing Bones is going to understand. "It's not about that, okay, Bones?"

She comes closer, leaning on the front of my desk and looking down at me. Her voice rises slightly, impatient and frustrated, "Then what is it about, Booth? You must understand you have to have a gun to do your job."

Now would be the perfect moment to tell her the truth about what I've been thinking. To say, _Actually, Bones, about that_…

Instead, I start shuffling papers on my desk and mutter, "If they give me a gun…you don't know what it's like. Every time I hold it, every time I pull the trigger…it's going to feel like I'm taking that shot, all over again."

The expression on Bones face gives the impression that I've just began to babble in some completely incomprehensible language. I can see the struggle to process the statement, the attempt to pull away from the literal. The effort obviously fails, because what she says is, "That's simply not possible. There is no connection…certain memories may in fact be triggered, but they are simply that: memories. They should have no bearing whatsoever on the present time."

I shake my head, staring at my desk. "It doesn't work like that, Bones."

Bones is quiet for a long moment, and I can feel her gaze on me even as I refuse to meet it. She break the silence and says in a definitive tone, "Come with me."

I look up. "Come where?"

Bones heads to the door and looks at me expectantly, her expression determined. "Just…just come." I half stand, hesitating. She raises an eyebrow. "Trust me."

The words send an unexpected shiver down my spine. Trust. It used to be such a simple issue with us. And it's true, I still trust Bones completely; nothing's changed there. But it used to work both ways; and now, she has no reason to trust me anymore. Hell, I don't even trust myself.

Bones gives a little impatient nod toward the door. "My car's downstairs, Booth. Let's go."

I swallow, unable to come up with any guess as to what she has in mind. The glint in her eyes has me a little unnerved; I'm not sure I'm willing to go into this without an escape. "I trust you, Bones." I tell her seriously, but then add, finally coming around the desk to join her, "But I'm driving. You direct."

* * * * * *

We're quiet through most of the drive; Bones gives me directions and I nervously try to figure out where we could possibly be heading.

It isn't until we turn on the street that I realize, and I have to resist the urge to pull the car to the side. Bones points lazily out the window, "Pull in here."

There's a knot in my stomach that's been building the whole drive, and now it tightens painfully as something akin to panic sweeps over me. "Bones…"

She gives me a patented look, the one that warns me against arguing. So I pull into the parking lot at the shooting range, wondering how I hadn't seen this coming.

Bones gets out of the car briskly, all business. I'm slower exiting, and I turn to face her without moving away from the car. "Bones, I really don't think…"

She whirls, and her eyes flash. "You're coming in. And you are going to _try_. And I am going to _prove_ to you that shooting a gun again has no connection."

So I nod and mutely follow her inside. What I try to tell myself is that I owe Bones this much. I hurt her (I _shot_ her), and avoided her for my own selfish reasons, and soon I'll have to betray her again, even if it is for the best. I can do _this _for her, at least. If only to prove to her how beyond repair I am.

Bones has a locker here, of course, with three guns (all of which, I should point out, are a more appropriate size then the one she favors for work).

I keep my mouth shut as she grabs two of the guns, along with the required ear and eye protection equipment. She leads me to an empty shooting booth, the standard target set up down the firing lanes.

Bones turns to me and casually asks, "You want the .38 or .45?"

I open my mouth to answer, to tell her I don't want this, that I can't, but my mouth's too dry to speak. By my sides, my hands clench. They're itching again.

"Booth?" Bones turns around, and really looks at me. Her tone softens. "Look at me. You can do this." She holds the .45 out to me, and after I stare dumbly for a few seconds she takes my wrists, practically forcing me to hold it.

It's been just over a week, but it feels all wrong, bulky and malformed. I'm afraid to get comfortable, honestly. That's what happened before. Bones lets go, and I'm holding it awkwardly by the barrel, away from my body like a bomb about to explode.

I stare almost dizzily at the gun in my hand, and am seized with an almost weakening sense of panic; I want Bones out of the room, far away from me. Luckily, this passes fairly quickly, but I'm still left standing like an idiot, unable to move.

Bones tries to direct me forward, to face the target, but I stay where I am. I meet her eyes, pleading silently. "Bones…I can't." My voice cracks, and I hate how timid I sound, how unsure.

"You can," she tells me calmly. "Everything is _fine_. It's a safe, controlled environment…look…" She picks up the .38 and stands in front of me, sliding on the goggles and sound protectors. After a moment, she expertly fires off a quick round, connecting with the target every time. I feel sick.

_I'm on the ground in the dimly lit basement, my feet tangled in chains. Gunshots pierce the air as I search for my gun._

_I find the gun; I don't find the walkie talkie._

Bones turns around. Peers at me with concern. "Are you alright, Booth? You're extremely pale."

I nod; her voice seems to be coming from far away, and it's like I'm fighting between two realities. She ushers me forward. "Nothing can happen here, Booth. You've done this thousands of times before. Go ahead."

My hand shakes violently as I raise the .45 to what is supposed to be a more natural grip, bracing it with both hands. My palms meld instantly to the sleek, cool curves, the way it has a thousand times before, but this time, just the feel of it in my hand makes my stomach lurch and my hands tremble even more.

_He disappears down one of the corridors and I'm left to wait, gun at the ready. _

Bones' palm rests again my back, and she moves closer, close enough that I can feel her breath on neck when she says quietly, "Everything's fine. I'm right here. You can do this."

My palms are sweating, enough to slip a little as I readjust the barrel. I stare hard at the target down the firing lane, focusing on Bones' comfortingly close presence; still, all I can see is the darkness of the basement.

I cock the gun, grip tightening. Bones never stops quietly murmuring reassurances, and she never breaks contact.

The target in front of me blurs.

_A flash of movement…_

I pull the trigger.

_I react instinctually._

"Good."

_The figure – Bones- crumbles, and her gun skitters away._

"See, Booth? Nothing happened. Everything is fine. Again."

_Bones stares up at me, face white, eyes terrified. There's so much blood. _

"Booth?"

_"Booth…"_

I drop the gun on the counter in front of me, dizzy, just as my knees buckle beneath me and I back shakily away from the firing lanes, forcing Bones to stumble out of my way as I lean against the wall, feeling too damn weak to even stand up.

Alarmed, Bones comes toward me, tentatively reaching for my arm. "Booth, are you-"

"No, no, I can't…I can't do it, Bones, please…" My voice breaks and I shake my head violently, "Don't make me, I can't, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" My breathing is coming out in shallow, harsh gasps between the protests spilling out.

Bones' voice takes on a tone she rarely uses; gentle and soothing. "Booth." She puts a hand on my arm and tugs it gently. "Sit down….come on, you're okay…" I half-sink, half-slide down the wall until I'm sitting, and Bones crouches down in front of me. "Booth, I need you to breathe, alright? Deep breaths, that's it…" She takes my hand in hers and squeezes it, her eyes never leaving mine. "Deep breaths…"

We sit like that for a minute or so, as my breathing and heart rate return to normal. I fixate on the firmness of Bones' grip on my hand, a sharp contrast to her weak grip right after it happened. There's a palpable tenderness in her eyes as she watches me, and it's to my intense embarrassment that I realize my own eyes are damp.

"Alright?" She whispers after awhile..

Instead of answering, I ask in a hoarse voice, "I want to see it."

Her brows knit in confusion. "See what?"

My fingers reach out and brush her waist, and Bones catches my hand. "Booth…."

My eyes find hers, begging. "Please?"

"It isn't bad." She turns a little, and lifts up enough of her shirt so I can see it. You can see the surgical scar, still pink and raw, but I can see the larger, rougher part where the bullet entered.

My throat tightens, and Bones doesn't stop me as the tips of my fingers gently, slowly outline the scar. After a moment, though, her fingers wrap around my wrist, and the other hand pulls her shirt hem back over the scar.

"Booth," A little bit of that classic Bones 'no-nonsense' logic is back in her tone. "It's over. There is no reason to do this to yourself."

I'm not interested in this. She'll have to carry that scar for the rest of her life; why should I get to feel okay about giving it to her?

"You want to try again?" She asks tentatively.

"No." My voice is harsher than I intended. I get to my feet shakily, avoiding her gaze. "This was a bad idea…" I mutter, brushing past her and out in the parking lot.

The sun is too bright and it makes me dizzy again. Gunshots echo in my hears, and with a sudden urgency, I stumble over to some bushes and promptly vomit.

This is how Bones finds me; when I straighten up and turn, she's standing there, waiting, her expression blank. She holds out her hand and quietly directs, "Give me your keys."

I don't protest; there's no point in making a case that I'm fit to drive.

The ride back to my apartment is completely silent. I can see the mixture of helplessness, frustration and worry in Bones' face, but for the most part I gaze out the window the avoid seeing all of this.

I'm becoming increasingly and inexplicably angry. Mostly at myself, for being so pathetic in front of her (again), and for starting all this in the first place. But I'm also angry at Bones, because I know she doesn't understand, that she's not going to, and because all of that is just making me feel worse.

Bones drives me to my apartment instead of returning to the Hoover Building, where she left her car, and she doesn't ask before following me in.

I walk straight to the kitchen and pour myself a drink, while Bones watches silently. There's a part of me that hates what I'm doing, but everything that's happened today is weighing too heavily. From the conversation with Sweets, to the panic attack at the range, and even the dread of the conversation that I know is coming.

The thing is, even though this morning I thought I had made up my mind that the sessions were a waste of time, that there wasn't anything to be done for me…it turned out I hadn't fully given in to this idea. It wasn't until we got to the shooting range that I acknowledged a tiny bit of hope; that maybe, just maybe, shooting a gun would turn out not to be as bad as I thought it would be, much like when I'd finally seen Bones after everything that happened.

But it had been as bad as I'd thought. Worse. And now that I'd tried it, had to relive it all again, I know, _without a doubt_, that I won't do it again.

And now Bones is staring at me, waiting for me to come up with some plan. Waiting for me to tell her how I'm going to move past this, how _we_ are going to be back to normal.

I have to tell her we won't. That we can't, that _I_ can't. And she'll be better off; she really will.

But Bones won't see it that way. And she's stubborn, so she always thinks she's right.

I drink a glass of Scotch quickly and pour another. I glance at Bones. "Want anything?"

She shakes her head, then says, "You can try again." I don't answer, so she adds, "Dr. Sweets even said-"

"_Sweets_ said?" I repeat incredulously. "Since when do you buy into Sweets' psychological crap?"

Bones stiffens slightly at the edge to my voice. "I _do_ think psychology is illogical and unscientific but…your reaction to all this is _just_ as unscientific and illogical so…maybe there is some correlation."

I stare at her, the anger flaring again, a blatant way to put off the discussion we _need_ to have. "_Illogical_? That's great, Bones…you know, you're the only person on the planet who would think the _logical _thing would be to…to not _care_ that I _shot_ you."

She sighs. "I never said you shouldn't care. But I would think your main concern, once ruling out any long term physical ramifications, which obviously the doctors did, would be whether I was upset with you, and I've made it abundantly clear that I'm not, so-"

"That isn't all that matters!" I'm nearly shouting. "I messed up, I let you down. And I have to live with it, don't you get that?!"

Bones crosses the room to come closer to the kitchen, staying on the opposite side of the bar to look at me. "It was an _accident_. And I was in…moderate pain for no more than a day! That shouldn't be so difficult to live with!"

I set my jaw firmly and stare at her. "It wasn't moderate pain, and it was more than one day. I've been shot before, I know what it's like." She looks away momentarily, flinching for the first time. "Not to mention the…other stuff. The nightmares, Bones?"

Bones rolls her eyes impatiently, "I told you multiple times I was _not_ having a nightmare about what happened last week, Booth. In any case, dreams are most likely only products of elevated dimethyltryptamine levels that occur during REM sleep, so even if your erroneous assumption was correct, it's a hardly a measure of trauma-"

The scientific speak goes over my head as always, but her repeated denial registers. "Stop _lying_ to me, Bones!"

She stops speaking immediately, taken aback by the bitterness in my tone. When she recovers, there's a steely edge to her voice, "I'm _not_. I rarely lie, as you know."

"Then what?" I ask, nearing taunting. "Then what were you dreaming about, if you're telling the truth?"

Bones flushes, and her eyes dart to my glass, which is empty again. I see this, and, in a childish move, I make a show of refilling it and downing it again, quickly.

"I shouldn't have to prove anything to you," she says quietly. "You are going to believe what you want no matter what I say."

I shrug. "See? You don't know what else to say."

Her eyes narrow. "Stop avoiding the issue, Booth. I said you could try again at the shooting range. You'll keep seeing Sweets, and you can get past this."

"I won't go back." I tell her firmly. Surely today confirmed that it won't help. Surely she saw that I'm not fixable.

Bones rakes her hands through her hair, discouraged and losing patience with me. "Then _what_, Booth? What's _your_ plan? Because you can't get your field status returned if you won't accept a gun."

My eyes lock with hers, and in a low voice, I deliver the blow, the same way I did with Cullen and Sweets, just After. "I know that."

Bones mouth opens slightly, as though she had been anticipating a response and planning a retort, but my words stop whatever was coming. Silence hangs between us, heavy and full.

She swallows, then stammers quietly, "But…but if your field status isn't returned…we can't go back to work together."

My throat constricts painfully, and it's all I can do to hold her gaze as I repeat, even more quietly, "I know that."

It's a painful process, watching the ramifications of this statement register on Bones' face. She takes an actual step back, as if the words carry a physical force. Her eyebrows draw together, and her eyes slowly fill with first disbelief, and then hurt.

My chest aches, and I have to resist the urge to revoke the words immediately, tell her I didn't mean it. I set my glass on the counter and move closer to her, my tone repentant, "Bones…"

She moves back automatically, a subtle change in her expression taking place; now she's staring at me as though I am no longer someone she recognizes; Bones' eyes are the picture of betrayal.

"So that's it?" she asks, her tone cold. "You give up, just like that? No fight, nothing?"

My shoulders slump. "Don't make it about that…"

"It's not about what I make it. It's a fact." Bones retorts heatedly. Her face is pale, and her eyes are hard but bright; I can't take that betrayed expression anymore.

I don't understand her. I shot her and she wants to brush it off, can't even understand why I'm torturing myself over it. But now…it's comparatively no big deal, surely? I _shot_ my partner…it should be expected that we can't just continue on like it never happened. It's what's best for Bones. Yet _this_ is what she chooses to see as betrayal.

She's got it all wrong.

It shouldn't surprise me; Bones works with logic, and this is what happens. Of course she would care more about the professional partnership, while I'm the one who can't deal with the fact that I hurt one of the people I care about more than anything in the world, partner or not.

I deal in emotions. She deals in logic.

I'm terrified of something happening to her. She's terrified of something happening to the partnership.

I don't agree with those who see Bones as cold and emotionless. I know she cares about me; I know she values our friendship, as well. I know she has a good heart, one she lets down some of the walls she's so carefully constructed after years of being hurt. But in the end, she's a person who compartmentalizes. And she can't understand someone who can't.

After I was shot, after my 'death' was revealed as a hoax, I got to hear about her 'compartmentalizing' and the way she'd 'processed and moved on'. Her anger came from the fact that it seemed like I hadn't trusted her enough to let her know the truth.

But in that hospital, barely over a week ago, when I thought _she_ might not make it…I've never been more terrified. I can't imagine facing a world without Bones in it. I literally couldn't live with myself if I was the reason it happened; that's why I'm doing this. That's why I'm not shooting a gun, or bringing her into the field. To protect her.

The way she's looking at me now, like I'm a traitor, like I'm abandoning her…it just proves that she doesn't understand. That she will _never _ be able to fully comprehend how much she means to me.

And because of this, there's a part of me that's furious with her.

"Just forget it, okay?" I snap angrily, moving out the kitchen and moving into the living room. "You won't understand, how could you?"

"What does that mean?"

"Well, if you ever took even a second to let yourself _feel_ something rather than break it all into your precious logic, you might actually discover some empathy, but God knows that'll never happen, so why bother?" I throw myself down on the couch so my back is to her, and I stare fixedly at the blank screen of the television.

There's a thinly veiled panic in Bones' voice now, disguised with pure annoyance. "I don't see how a lack of empathy is a factor…you're threatening to dissolve our partnership, and I don't understand why you get to make that choice alone. I believe I should be somewhat involved in that decision…"

"You were involved," I say bitterly, still not turning around to face her. "You made the decision to run out of the corridor instead of stay where I told you to. _That_ was your part of that decision." In a fit of anger, I throw the empty glass forward, and it hits the wall behind the TV shattering.

My temper is an old, old enemy. It developed young, a byproduct of growing up with my father. In high school, coaches and teachers warned me about it, and for the most part I learned to control it. The events of this evening, though, are all blatantly demonstrative of the fact that my temper is getting the best of me. The worst part is, I'm mostly angry at myself; but my temper doesn't care where it's aiming, and right now, it's all directed at Bones.

"You should've just _stayed_ where you were supposed to. Then none of this would be happening."

It's funny the way our instinct to defend ourselves worked. The first thing Bones did after she woke up in the hospital was apologize to me for leaving the hallway; she's tried multiple times to take part of the blame for that reason, even when I've refused to accept it. But the accusatory way I say this make her protest.

"I came out because I was worried about you! There were gunshots, and you weren't replying to the signal we'd previously agreed upon…without knowing you had lost the signaling device, the most logical conclusion was that you were hurt, I…I saw a body, down the opposite hallway and thought…" Her voice splinters. "I thought you were _dead_."

I close my eyes, and I still don't turn to look at Bones, although I can tell from her voice that she's moved further into the living room. "Yeah? Well, it's too bad that isn't what happened."

There's a sharp intake of breath, and then, barely audible, her voice. "What?"

A muscle jumps in my jaw, and I'm staring at the TV so hard my eyes ache. I won't turn around to look at her; I'm too much of a coward. "It's not like you would have been bothered. If I'd been the one to get shot, instead of you. If I'd been killed. _You_'d have compartmentalized your way right through that, wouldn't you? Process and move on? _You, _Bones, would have been back at the lab the next day, because it's fucking what's _logical_."

I pause, and am met with only silence, so I continue, "That's what happened when I got shot a few months ago, right? Sweets didn't even bother telling you I was alive, because even _he_ knew it wouldn't have made much difference. You went about your business, you went to the lab, you moved on, even tried to get out of going to the waste of time _funeral_." I'm talking in a voice of mock-casualty, but there is an unmistakable undercurrent of bitterness and hostility. "It's admirable, really, Bones…your total inability to care. Much more efficient, right? And logical?

"If I was like you….hell, we wouldn't have a problem, would we? I'd have been working the next day, seen you in the hospital when I was supposed to because we're _partners_ and it's _expected_. But not because I was worried. That wouldn't be logical. That wouldn't be compartmentalizing. But the thing is, Bones, we can't all be cold, unfeeling clinical robots, can we? We can't all be as smart, as _logical _as you. So do me a fucking favor, and don't fault _me_ for giving a damn that I hurt you, alright? Even if _you _don't understand what that's like."

The irony of this speech, the speech about how I have feelings, is that it's the most unthinkingly cruel I can remember ever being to someone, much less to Bones. Regretfully, I only realize this when I finally man up and turn around, which only happens after several long, terrifyingly heavy moments of silence, to gauge Bones' reaction.

She's hovering behind the couch, crying soundlessly.

The feeling I get at that moment, seeing her, is extremely similar to that moment in the basement when I realized I'd shot her; the sickening realization, the self-loathing, and the actual, physical pain are all identical, and so is the frantic desire to do _absolutely anything_ to take a moment back.

Tears spill endlessly from Bones' eyes, which seem an even brighter blue than usual, somehow. Her face crumples, and she's shaking with silent sobs; one hand hovers over her lips, ready to muffle any sound, and the other arm is wrapped around her waist, protectively. But those eyes…the raw heartbreak is evident, and her gaze pierces me like a bullet.

I've seen Bones cry before, on occasion, but never, ever like this. And I've never been the cause of it. For the second time in my life, I know what true self-hatred feels like.

My own tears are like reflex; they knot in my throat and gather in my eyes, making my voice a gravelly, rough mess when I say her name, "Bones…" I'm off the couch and moving toward her, but she recoils instantly, suddenly unable to quiet the sobs as she jerks away from me and moves quickly toward the door.

The door slams, and I want to follow her, but for a moment I am paralyzed. What right do I have to tell her to come back? What right do I have to apologize, to try to tell her I didn't mean it?

It turns out some words are like a bullet. You make the bad decision to release them, even for only a moment, and the damage is done.

Pulling the trigger. Saying those things, those thoughtlessly _malicious _words. I have to live with both of those.

And right now I'm not sure which I feel worse about.

* * * * *

I follow her fairly quickly, remembering that Bones doesn't have her car with her, and for some reason some semblance of decency chooses this moment to kick back in.

She's sitting on the curb outside my apartment, knees drawn toward her body, arms wrapped around herself. She doesn't look up when I come out, but she hears my footsteps and says in thick, fragile voice that scares me, "Go away."

She sounds so unlike the Bones I know and so much like a lost, frightened little girl who's just realized she's alone that my eyes well with tears again. "Let me at least…give you a ride," I say shakily, when all I want to say is _I'm sorry_.

"I called Angela," she says again, in that same voice. There's a beat of stillness, and then her hand covers her face and she ducks her head, resting it on her knees. I can hear quiet gasps of her cries, hard enough to make her frame shudder every few seconds.

Two of the tears I've been trying to hold back leak out of the corners of my eyes. I want to hold her so badly it hurts. I want to tell her I'm sorry, that I'll do absolutely anything if only she won't cry anymore, that I'd do anything I could not to hurt her like this again.

"Bones." My voice catches on the first word, and I have to swallow hard. "Bones, I didn't-"

"_Don't_. " She chokes out in what is most likely meant to be an angry tone, but ends up more akin to pleading; it's enough to make me shut up.

We stay like that, Bones sitting, me standing, enveloped in darkness, through a good minute and a half of silence, punctuated only by the occasional sniffle or gasp, each of which hit me like a knife.

Bones breaks the silence, her voice so soft I have to reassure myself I'm not imagining it. "Did you know they told us you were going to be fine? After the surgery at the hospital, th-the doctor…he said everything went satisfactorily and, and you would wake up by the next morning. And he…he said we weren't allowed to visit until morning, but by the time we came back you would be almost awake, and you would be j-just fine. So they made me…they made us go home, to come back the next morning but…but they came before it was time. One of the agents he…he came to my apartment. To stop me from going, I guess…and Angela…Angela was there, and we were about to g-go back, but he came to the door…and he said, you, you took a t-turn and…didn't make it." Bones seems to curl up even tighter. "But they said you were going to be fine…"

My face is wet with tears now, and I can't think of a thing to say. I've drained the meaning of _I'm sorry_, by now, surely. I'm out of words.

The whir of tires and the brightness of headlights appear suddenly, and Angela's car pulls up next to the curb. Bones is up in an instant, and she doesn't look back at me as she walks wordlessly to the passenger door and ducks into the car.

I swipe furiously at my eyes with my sleeve; I can glimpse Angela's face through the window, questioning and worried, a worry that noticeably increases when she sees Bones' face. She looks at me, questions all over her face, but Bones says something and suddenly they're driving away.

* * * * * *

For half an hour, I don't do anything. I sit on the couch in my living room, lights off and stare ahead into nothingness.

All I want is to convince myself none of it happened. But that's impossible.

So I sit in my dark living room, replaying the scene in my mind, a sort of mental self-torture. Because I don't deserve anything less.

The knocks at the door startle me, and the person who caused them doesn't bother to wait for me to open the door.

I'm barely on my feet in front of the couch when Angela is crossing the living room and sending her palm flying at my cheek.

It stings a little, but the physical pain barely registers. I stare at her, a little startled, and then Angela launches in, "You know Brennan's my best friend."

She waits, and I gather that I'm expected to reply, so I say, "Yes."

"And you know I don't like you very much right now. Like, at all."

"Yes."

"Good. Now you may want to sit back down. There are some things you need to know, and I'm going to tell you, because Bren…she won't. You, Seeley, are going to sit and listen. Understood?"

And I do the only thing I can. I nod submissively, wondering if Angela has an even stronger torture ready for me.

I definitely deserve it.

_OKAY. Phew. That was pretty draining to write, tell you the truth. I know it was long, but hopefully the content made it worth it. I'd love your reviews, feedback on everything…most especially the Booth/Brennan fight of course. Also, I'm hoping to get the next chapter up quickly, since I'll be home this weekend…reviews are helpful with that, of course. _


	7. Chapter 7

_Hey, everyone. The reviews for last chapter blew me away…you guys make my day, you really do. You deserved a much quicker update for it all, but I ended up going on social and entertainment lockdown all weekend to study for an exam, and this week was busy. Plus two episodes this week..both were fantastic. Next week is dead time before finals, so hopefully the next one will be up faster. This is another long chapter, so hopefully it'll be worth the wait. Without further ado: _

Chapter Seven

I sit on the couch and Angela stands in front of me, a looming, intimidating presence. I feel like a kid in the principal's office, although even that analogy feels like I'm trivializing the situation.

Angela stares down at me with undisguised disgust. It's not the same kind of disgust she gets in the forensics lab, when the bodies or the facts get too gruesome for an artist; this is more loathing than grossed out.

She folds her arms. "She told me what you said."

I suppose I should have known that; why else would Angela have stormed in and slapped me without preamble? Still, I'm a little surprised. "She did?"

Angela smiles tightly. "I had to force it out of her. Started circling her block and refused to take her home until she told me." The smile, insincere and humorless to begin with, drops. "But she started crying again about thirty seconds after she got in the car, and Bren…she doesn't do that. She's my best friend, and I've known her for years, and she's only cried like that in front of me once before and that…" She meets my eyes, dead serious. "That was a big deal, so I knew this was, too."

My own words replay themselves in my head for maybe the hundredth time since it happened. Some phrases are louder than others.

_Total inability to care._

_Cold, unfeeling clinical robot._

I grimace, bile rising in the back of my throat, as if my self-disgust has turned physical. Angela's right; this was a big deal.

Angela's studying me now, and I can see she's trying to work out where to start, but I feel suddenly pressured to explain, or at least acknowledge my own awareness of how awful I was.

"I know," I tell her quietly, my voice ragged with exhaustion. "I know it was horrible, and I was just-"

"Nuh-uh." Angela holds up her hand. "We aren't doing that. Don't make excuses. That's not why I'm here."

I start to protest, but her look quells me. I barely repress a meek _Yes, ma'am._

Angela draws a deep, calming breath, and then asks, "You two never talked about it did you?" At my blank expression, she clarifies, "The shooting. Your _death_." The word drips with sarcasm. "Beyond the whole argument about whether you should have told her or not?"

I pause, somewhat thrown by the question. "Well…not really, but…everything was going on with Gormogon and Zack."

"Right, I didn't think so." Angela finally gives up her intimidating stance in favor of comfort, sitting down in the chair across from me, which suggests we are about to begin the long haul. "Like I said. I'm telling you all this because I think you _should_ know; not because you deserve to, or even because Bren would want you to."

I nod, barely trusting myself to speak.

"I don't know how much you remember, even while you were conscious…" She raises her eyebrows at me, and it takes me a second to realize that she's inviting me to respond.

"I…I remember Bones shooting Pam. And I remember her talking to me, she…she was holding my hand."

"Great. So you probably remember how terrified she was."

I did. I remember the horror, the panic in her expression; I remember the way her voice had gotten progressively more hysterical as she begged me to hang on.

Angela continues, and even as she describes my injury her eyes remain utterly pitiless. "You passed out at some point. She kept yelling your name for awhile, and when the paramedics got there, it took two of them, _plus_ Cam, Hodgins and Sweets to make her let go of your hand and move away.

"We kind of had to pull her up, and I think she was in shock at that point. She was shaking all over, and just stared at you, laying on the floor. We tried to talk to her, but it was like she didn't even hear. Then they got you in the gurney, and started heading for the ambulance, and she tried to follow. But the police were there, and they needed a statement from her about that woman. She started to panic; she kept saying 'I have to go with Booth' over and over."

My stomach feels like it's folding in on itself. Why did I never ask about any of this? I had never been able to reconcile the terrified, panicked Bones that had been the only thing I could focus on before I lost consciousness with the angry, detached version that had been waiting for me post-funeral. I'd never asked about what happened in between.

"We promised to get her to the hospital as soon as possible. Sweets was trying to explain everything to the police, about that woman's connection to the case. Cam and I got Bren over to one of the officers, and they started asking questions, but all she kept saying was 'she shot him.' She was staring at the door where they took you.

"The police gave up, finally…there were dozens of eyewitnesses to confirm Pam was about to shoot again. Jack and I drove Brennan to the hospital; I wasn't about to let her try to drive. She was dead quiet the whole time, white as a sheet…staring at her hands. There was blood on both of them, and all down her arm. But when we got there she didn't bother washing them…Cam had gotten there before us and found your doctor. They said they were about to take you to surgery. Bren wanted to see you, but the doctors said there wasn't time."

Some of the fury has drained from Angela's eyes now; she's far away, reliving that night. I would be relieved by this, but I'm caught up in what she's saying, by the blanks I never had filled about everything that happened while I was in surgery, and later, in hiding. At the same time, I'm dreading what's coming.

"We all wanted to stay; I tried to get Brennan to go wash her hands, clean up a little, but it was still like she didn't even hear me. She just sat in one of the chairs in the waiting room, trying not to cry, all curled up like she gets when something bad happens."

I know what she's talking about; I remember finding Bones curled on the couch in her office like that several times after we identified her mother's remains: arms wrapped around herself, shrinking into the back of the couch like she was trying to disappear. It's a position that is equal part vulnerability and self-protection, and it's always broken my heart. My chest tightens.

"I tried talking to her for a little while, but she was completely shut down. We were mostly quiet for the first few hours, but then Cam and Sweets started talking about the Pam woman, and Sweets made some idiotic comment about how she perceived Bren as a threat to your supposed affection for her. And he was talking about your protective tendencies and Bren just….she got up and walked out.

"I found her maybe fifteen minutes later in the hospital chapel." I glance up in surprise, and Angela shrugs. "Who would've thought, right? She said it was where you would be." Her face softens, only briefly. "That's how I knew exactly where to find you after she was shot."

For some reason, it is at this moment that I _know_ I don't want to hear this entire story. My dread for the certainly painful things I'll be hearing has up to this point been battling with a sort of morbid curiosity, but suddenly I'm not interested. I know asking Angela to stop would only bring back the hostility, and do no good, so I keep quiet, my eyes closing as though I can block out the images she's conjuring.

"I could tell she'd been crying, but she still wouldn't really talk to me. So I sat with her for about an hour, and then I told her that the doctors might know something by now, so we went back to the waiting room. Everyone was asleep, and about a half hour later, the doctors came and they said…"

"They said I'd be fine," I said dully, repeating what Bones had told me outside my apartment.

"Yes," Angela said, that hard quality back in her tone. "Bren about fell over, she was so relieved. She wanted to see you, right then…she actually said please. But the doctor said it wasn't allowed, and that you wouldn't be awake until morning anyway. He said we'd be allowed in at eight a.m., but in all likelihood you wouldn't be awake until around noon.

"Bren didn't want to leave, even with all that. She was afraid you would wake up early, and she didn't come right out and say it, but she didn't want you to wake up alone. We finally convinced her she should go get showered and changed, and I promised to come back with her early the next morning. So she finally agreed. Jack and I drove Brennan back to the Checker Box to get her car, but she was still sort of freaked and I didn't want to leave her. She was exhausted, and I wanted to make sure she got some sleep. She barely even argued when I insisted on staying at her place. I said I'd go back to the hospital with her, really early.

"It was probably four a.m. when we got back to her apartment. Bren took a shower, finally got that blood off, but I don't know if she actually slept because she woke me up in the guest room before seven, shouting about how we had to be at the hospital before eight. She was pacing around, trying to hurry me up, threatening to go without me." Angela pauses, her eyes darkening, and I can see her steeling herself for the next part, the important part.

_One of the agents he…he came to my apartment. To stop me from going, I guess…and Angela…Angela was there, and we were about to g-go back, but he came to the door…_

Bones' words echo in my ears, that completely broken tone, and suddenly I can't stop myself from saying hoarsely, "Angela…I can't-"

She raises her eyebrows at me, tone cool, "Can't what? Can't listen to this? Too bad, Booth, because you're going to hear it." She leans forward, expression completely solemn. "I was in the guest room and Bren had been shouting at me to hurry every thirty seconds or so. But then she stopped; and I heard someone else's voice. A man's. So I…I went out to see what was going on." Angela bites her lip and looks away briefly, enough to give me a clue of how bad it's going to be, this recollection I don't want to hear. My hands are clasped in front of me, knuckles white.

Angela meets my eyes and continues, "There was an agent standing in the door. He was looking at Brennan with this alarmed expression, and she…she was standing there, hugging herself, shaking so hard I could see it even from across the room. Her face was _so_ white, and she just…she yelled at him 'Go' She was trying to sound all authoritative, but her voice was almost hysterical. And then she looked at me, and she said, 'Angela, make him go now' So I just nodded at him; I figured there could only be one thing an agent would come over that early for.

"I didn't know what to say to her. I-I put a hand on her arm but she jerked away. She was trembling all over, and then she kind of leaned against the wall like she couldn't hold herself up. I asked her what happened, even though I _knew_." Angela meets my gaze. "Only one thing could make her look like that. And she shook her head a lot, and then…." Angela closes her eyes, and when they open I can see the unmistakable sheen of tears. "…she let out this long, low moan that was just…horrible. I never want to hear anything like that again…it was just _pain_. And she just slid to the floor and…and she completely fell apart."

Tears clog my throat. I don't want this. I don't want to hear about Bones in any more pain. I'd been stung by her behavior after my fake death; that much I had made clear this evening. But now I don't care. I'd rather think she'd been alright. I don't want to hear about suffering.

Angela is noticeably shaken by the memory of what happened, but is determined to tell me everything. "I don't even know a better way to describe it. Bren's so together, so strong all the time. She doesn't break. But right then…she didn't even care that I was there watching, she had no control over it. She just _lost it_.

"She was crying. I've never seen anyone cry that hard, Booth. She couldn't catch her breath between sobs, and her whole body was shuddering. I sat down next to her, tried to hug her, but she fought me the best she could. She was curled up again, her head cradled in her hands and I just….all I could was sit there while she cried. It seemed to last forever. Then I started to get really worried…she couldn't seem to stop long enough to catch her breath, and I was afraid she'd make herself sick, so I went to the kitchen and got a paper bag, and I came back and made her sit up, made her breathe into it. I figured that's what you do…then I tried taking her hand but she wouldn't let me touch her."

Angela's blinking back tears, and my eyes aren't exactly dry either. She's doing too good of a job putting a mental picture in my head; I've had enough firsthand memories of Bones in pain lately (_because of me, because of me_)… now another one is being added.

"She calmed down a little once she started breathing normally, but she was still crying a lot. But she let me hug her…I think she was too weak to fight me off. I asked her what she needed and…and she answered in this lost little girl voice I've never heard from anyone, much less Brennan…she said 'Booth."

I set my jaw and squeeze my eyes shut. I know the voice Angela means, too. I heard her use it tonight, for the first time.

"It broke my heart," Angela continues quietly. "She just looked so…hopeless. So broken. Like there was really nothing anyone could do for her anymore. Including me." Angela takes a breath. "We sat there for awhile longer, and then Bren told me I could go. But I was afraid to leave her alone, so I refused.

"She stood up. She had stopped crying, for the most part, but now she looked kind of…dazed? Numb, I guess. It was like she was at the beginning of the hospital. She said something about needing to wash her hands again, and I let her go to her bedroom alone. I called Jack, to see if he knew, and he said Cam called. When I hung up, I went to check on her, and she was laying on her bed…tears streaming down her face, holding…I don't know, exactly, some sort of pig figurine and what I think was a smurf…"

"Jasper. And Brainy Smurf," I say, my voice cracking. I can see the confusion on Angela's face; it's clear this part was never something she understood. "I gave them to her…"

"Oh," Angela replies softly. "I didn't ask her, and she just…she never said. But anyway, I…I sat down next to her, and she looked at me with this…" She pauses, searching for the right word. "…this devastated look. And she said 'I can't do this'."

A wave of nausea grips me and I drop my head into my hands, fingers clawing at my scalp to distract myself. "Stop," I beg. "Angela, please, that's…I get the point."

Angela makes a sort of snorting sound to indicate her disbelief. "You get the _point_? Too bad, there's more. She had to live it, you can listen to it." While I'm desperately trying to come up with some way to refute this statement, Angela leans forward. "You said she didn't care, Booth. You told her she's an _unfeeling robot_ who wouldn't care if you died. So you're going to sit and listen to all the reasons you're dead wrong."

I wince when she throws my own words back at me, and, chastened, I nod.

"Good. She kept saying that over and over. 'I can't do this, I can't do this'. And I told her she could, that she _would_, but none of it made any difference. She wanted me to go, so I compromised and left her alone in her room for awhile.

"She came out a few hours later and she looked different. It was …scary. Before…her eyes had just been raw. Anguished. And suddenly they were just…hollow. She looked haunted. She walked straight to her CD cases and pulled out a Cyndi Lauper and got the disc out; she threw the case at the wall and snapped the CD with her hands. Her face was blank the whole time."

I shudder; this would've been Bones' equivalent to punching a wall. I allow myself to settle, briefly, on an actually pleasant mental image: Bones singing that night. I'd been captivated by her, and it was fitting that this had been what was going on right before I got shot; I could've done much, much worse in terms of my last moments on earth.

Angela's voice jolts me back to the far less enjoyable aftermath. "And that was when she shut down. She didn't say another word all day; she barely looked at me, even when I talked to her. She dragged out that stupid punching dummy thing she has in her closet, put on those gloves and just started beating it. I tried to get her to eat something after awhile, and she just shook her head.

"I left with Jack that night, and Bren was in the bedroom again, just laying there. I went in and hugged her, and it was like she wasn't even _there_, you know? Like she just…looked right through me. I told her Cam said not to worry about work, to take as long as she needed…I told her I left her food in the kitchen, I even said I would leave her something to help her sleep, just for that night. She still didn't say a word. She just barely nodded."

Angela swipes at her eyes impatiently. "I didn't want to leave her, even then. She was scaring me. But I could tell she wanted me to go…the only person she wanted to see then was you."

The pressure behind my eyes is building. I press my fingers against my eyelids and rub lightly. I'd been hurt by Bones' seeming lack of reaction to my death. The truth was much, much worse. It was like Sweets said; it's worse to hear about someone you care about in pain than to be in pain yourself. I'd take back my bruised feelings in a second, as much as I had obsessed over it at the time. There's no gratification here.

"When I got to the lab the next morning she was already there. I think the others were surprised, but I wasn't really. She wasn't going to sit around in her apartment doing nothing but thinking about what happened. She'd try to distract herself…that's how Brennan is." She raises her eyebrows pointedly, blatantly implying I should have understood this.

"She still wasn't talking to anyone. When Cam tried to tell her that no one had expected her to work, that she could take it easy, she just ignored her. She started plowing through those limbo cases. Never took a break. That's how it was for the next week and a half. She worked herself ragged. I saw an overnight bag in her office…I honestly don't think she went home. I kept finding the food I would bring her in the trash, and if she was sleeping it was only a couple hours here and there in her office.

"She at least started speaking again after two days, but only about her cases, and only when she had to. No one mentioned you to her. A week after it happened, we had another case, some body found in a swamp the FBI wanted her to look at. But she made Zack go. And the agent working the case, that idiot Kyle Desmond…he came back to the lab and was hanging around on the platform. The victim had been shot, so Bren was already on edge, and she definitely didn't like seeing some other agent there….then he started hovering over the table. She practically growled at him to get back, and he said something like 'I hear you used to let Agent Booth be very involved in the process.' Needless to say, she flipped out. Twisted the guy's arm behind his back and forcibly led him off the platform…"

The image of Bones manhandling that tool Desmond is amusing for about a second…but then Angela continues.

"…yelling about how he wasn't you and he better stay the hell away from the Jeffersonian and what fucking idiot thought she wanted another FBI agent working there, anyway. Guy was terrified. And poor Bren…she came back to the table and was standing there trying her best not to break down and cry in front of all of us…Cam took pity on her and asked her to get some files from her office, so Brennan could disappear in there for about half an hour."

I feel like we must be near the end of it. I'm physically ill, and I've come to the grim conclusion that there's nothing I will ever be able to do to make up for the amount of hurt I've caused Bones. Not only am I getting completely new information about what I've put her through in the past, but everything Angela's saying just makes my cruelty from tonight even more unforgivable.

Angela's expression has become hesitant, and that turns my stomach even more. She's hasn't been uncertain about telling me anything so far, believing none of it is too awful for me to hear, so the uncertainty on her face makes me nervous.

Ultimately, it seems, she decides to push forward. "There's something else, too. You _really_ aren't supposed to know this, I don't think but…that same afternoon, I went to Bren's office to check on her, and then Cam came in and Brennan…she said she was done with FBI field work. She said a bunch of stuff about how Zack was ready and she would be of more use in the lab, but…" Angela shrugs. "We knew what it was really about."

My chest constricts. So much for Bones putting work first. I know how much the work matters to her; full field involvement, the ability to truly be a part of what we do. Giving those families the truth; that's what Bones is all about. And she was ready to go back to the lab full time, because she couldn't do the work with me?

"I honestly don't know what would've happened if it had been real," Angela says quietly in a voice that sounds like she's merely musing aloud, to herself, rather than addressing me. "I don't see how she could have kept going like she was. She was killing herself. The work all the time, the no eating or sleeping. And that was her way of _coping_." Angela gives a little shudder before turning her attention back to me.

"The day before your funeral was the first time anyone dared to even bring you up in a conversation. I told her first, just to sort of remind her before she heard it from someone else. When I first told her it was the next day, she looked kind of panicked, and then she got that stubborn look in place. Said she wouldn't go."

Angela crosses her arms, narrowing her eyes at me. "I knew she'd say that. Funerals are too public for Brennan. She keeps her grief as private as she can. _You_ should know that. You should _know_ her well enough to know she doesn't want to whole world to know how she feels. Bren didn't care if most people thought she wasn't upset about you dying…she doesn't care if most people think she's callous or cold or unemotional…but _you_ aren't most people. _You_ are supposed to know her better than that. But tonight…tonight you sounded like everyone else, if not worse."

My face burns with shame and I don't dispute any of this.

"Why did you think she was so mad when you showed up at your own funeral? Sweets was right for once…hitting you meant something. She went through hell for ten days."

"I know," I mumble. God, she's making that clear.

Angela sounds exasperated with me. "I understand how horrible you feel about what happened last week, Booth. Really, I do. You're so protective over her, and it's really adorable most of the time. And you're not easy on yourself, especially when it comes to her, so of course you weren't going to be able to brush it off. But she's been through worse. You both have. She doesn't understand why you might…throw it all away because of an accident." She pauses. "And I don't mean just the partnership."

"I know," I say quietly. I rub my eyes tiredly; I don't want to think about everything Angela just told me, but I also don't want to think about the present: Bones at home alone, most definitely still hurt, and me with no way to take back everything I said. "It's just…when I found out she hadn't been told, and all I was hearing was…compartmentalizing and how she'd moved on and how even Sweets knew she could take it…." My face reddens; I'm embarrassed admitting this stuff now. It all seems so ridiculous.

"You were hurt," Angela finishes. "I get it. I even told Bren once she should talk to you about it, but she brushed it off. It was like she just wanted to forget." Angela shrugs. "To be honest I was relieved she didn't completely avoid you. She hid it by being angry, but the possibility of losing you, realizing how horrible it would be….it scared her to death. Still does." There's a pause, and then Angela adds tentatively, "She still has nightmares about the shooting."

I still, staring at Angela. "She…even now?"

Angela nods grimly. "Yeah. I wouldn't know but I caught her last month, whimpering in her sleep while she was taking a nap in her office."

My stomach turns. "I…she was having a nightmare the other night, at her place. I th-thought it was about the shooting. The other shooting I mean, last week and I…I told her she was lying when she tried to tell me it wasn't."

To my surprise, Angela's tone is kind, "Well, in your defense, she could have just told you what it really was about."

I shook my head, fervently; I'm in the mood for self punishment. "She shouldn't have had to. I know Bones doesn't lie."

Angela rolls her eyes. "Calling her a liar probably shouldn't be high on your list of concerns right now."

I nod once in acknowledgement. Angela was right; I know Bones well enough that I should have known. Tonight, I acted like everyone else does; didn't bother to decipher the emotions under the surface, just assumed Bones was being cold and aloof; when I'm one of the few people who is supposed to know better.

"What can I do?" I whisper, my voice helpless. "What I said…I can't take that back. What am I supposed to do to make sure she knows I didn't mean it?"

Angela leans forward, suddenly business like. "Well, I shouldn't _have _to tell you this, but recent events make me think I might…do _not _make her come to you."

"I know that," I assure her quickly. "God, I know…but what if…what if she won't talk to me? I wouldn't blame her, I was…" My voice falters. "I was brutal. Cruel."

"Yeah, you were," Angela says flatly. "But I don't even think she's _angry _at you. I think she's beyond that…she's just really, really hurt. You basically blindsided her with the possibility of dissolving your partnership, and _then_ started attacking her most vulnerable areas. It's pretty distressing when the guy you love starts exposing your biggest insecurities and saying he agrees."

My heart seems to simultaneously swell and clench….for several different reasons in that last sentence alone, and all I can do is stutter, "Wh-what?"

"Well, you get accused of something enough, a part of you starts to believe it. Even Brennan isn't immune to that. And when even _you_ turned out to think she's _robotic_-"

"I, I…I _don't_." I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. "But….that's not what I meant…the other thing you said…"

And, I swear, Angela smirks at me, "Please, Sweetie. Don't play dumb with me. She _loves_ you. She's been in love with you for years even if she is too scared to admit it, even to herself. I've just told you how heartbroken she was when she thought you were dead…you think she was grieving for just a partner? A friend, even? Do you think what you said tonight would have hurt her as much if you were just a friend running his mouth?"

I'm gaping stupidly at Angela, wanting for some irrational reason to protest but unable to form words.

She smirks even more, clearly enjoying the moment of what she views as levity after all this heavy discussion. "And I know you love her, too." This 'revelation' prompts an incoherent sputtering sound on my part. "That's why you're torturing yourself so much over what happened last week. It's why you stood up in front of the bullet in the first place months ago." She rolls her eyes. "You're both so deep in denial, when really it's the most obvious thing in the world. Usually it's kind of cute, not to mention endlessly entertaining, but right now? Not cute. Because you're hurting her, and that's hurting you, and it's all a mess. So you have to go fix it."

I sit stock still in the chair, my gaze locked with Angela's. I don't really know what to say to all this; she isn't asking for either confirmation or denial of the blatantly stated fact, so I don't bother. But I'm quiet long enough that Angela knows how right she is…not that she seemed to have any doubt.

I'm the one to break the silence, telling her quietly, "Angela. I can't…I still don't know if I can just go back to normal. Go back in the field…the thought of something happening again…I don't know if I can do it." I meet her eyes, my expression pained, "I _know_ that's going to be rough on Bones, but I just don't-"

Angela holds up her hand. "It's okay, Booth. One thing at a time, alright? Right now, you need to focus on what happened tonight. Make _that_ right, and worry about the rest of it later."

I nod a little. "So…so you're saying I should…?"

Angela groans in annoyance. "_Go_ to her, you stupid, clueless man. God, do I need to slap you again, Booth?"

"No, it's…okay." I'm on my feet then, and Angela, looking relieved, stands as well. "Okay, I'm going."

"Finally."

Angela heads to the door and I follow her. "Angela?" She turns. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," she replies. "I did it for Brennan. Not you."

I smile slightly. "She's lucky to have you as a friend. I mean it." _As unlucky as she is to have me lately_, I add silently to myself.

Angela smiles. "I know."

We go down the steps in silence and just as Angela's about to get in her car, she says, "Hey, Booth? You didn't deny it." She raises one eyebrow.

I don't pretend not to know what she's talking about. "Yeah, I…I know I didn't."

She grins. "That's a step." Her voice is cheerful as she adds, "Now go. Hurt her again and I'll kill you."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * * * *

I'm nervous walking up to Bones' apartment door. My heart's heavy with everything I learned in the past hour or so listening to Angela, and as much as I tried to get my thoughts together on the drive, I have no idea what to say to her.

My hands are shaking slightly when I knock on her door. For a moment, nothing happens, so I knock again. I can hear movement inside, and I wonder if she's standing on the other side of the door, debating whether to open it.

"Bones." I lean close to the door, trying to listen. "Bones, please…c'mon I have to talk to you."

The door swings open suddenly and she's standing there, staring at me warily.

My throat constricts painfully. Bones' eyes are red and swollen; I can tell she's been crying a long time. A big part of me wants to pull her into my arms and promise to be a better person; but there's another part that wants to shake her and say _Don't you see how I hurt you?_

"What is it?" Her voice, barely audible, is unsteady and guarded; it cuts me like a knife.

I swallow hard. "Can we talk?"

Her shoulders sag; her entire posture screams defeat. "You have more?"

As if my heart hasn't been battered enough tonight, this question makes me feels like it's being ripped from my chest.

"No," I reply quietly. "God, no, Bones, I just…I was all wrong."

Her eyes dart away from me, and then she turns and walks back inside, opening the door a little more behind her, which I take as an invitation to come inside.

Bones walks away from the door, her back to me, so I awkwardly enter and shut the door behind me, unwittingly reminded of Angela's recollection; she's stood right here when whichever agent it was told her I was dead.

"Bones?" I venture quietly; she doesn't turn around, but I can see her stiffen, can hear her shallow, still uneven breaths. I move a little closer. "Bones, will you please look at me?"

She turns, but keeps her eyes resolutely on the floor, only once chancing a momentary glance. I want her full attention so I can convey sincerity, but I can't keep the apology in any longer. "I'm sorry." My voice catches. "Bones, I'm so sorry. What I said…I didn't mean any of it…"

"Yes, you did," she counters softly, still addressing our feet. There's a pause, and then her eyes slowly drift up and lock with mine. Her expression is pained. "It was all too well formed. Tonight wasn't the first time you've had those thoughts."

I tentatively shuffle closer to her, a pleading note creeping into my voice as I answer, "No, Bones, I would never…I know you aren't cold. Or a robot, or incapable of caring. I _know_ that."

To my intense disappointment, she looks away again. "But you honestly believe I wasn't upset by your supposed death. You…you've thought about it previously. Possibly quite often." Bones pauses, pressing her lips together, and her voice hitches in her throat when she continues, "And why wouldn't you? I allowed you to believe it. I gave you no indication otherwise, I-I never even thanked you for saving my life, and I…I haven't been understanding of what you're going through currently. I…I'm afraid all the evidence, it…" Her voice falters and her eyes close. "It supports your assertion. I _am_ cold and unfeeling and…r-robotic."

Bones glances at me again, before ducking her head in something akin to shame, and this time I can see the unmistakable shimmer of tears. Once again, they seem to trigger my own, and my vision blurs.

Her words are a punch in a gut. I'd rather she be furious at me, slap me as Angela had. Instead, it seems, Bones has taken my cruelly thrown words to heart, once again believing that _she_ is in the wrong.

"No," I say vehemently, my voice thick with emotion and what I hope Bones can understand as certainty. "_Never_ say that, alright? You are anything but cold, Bones. I've never thought you could be. I was angry at myself and I was just spouting off…"

She still won't look at me. "But you thought it, didn't you? You thought I didn't…" Her voice trails off, and I can see her chin trembling, mouth contorting as she struggles to keep her voice steady. "The things you said were direct quotations…compartmentalizing and processing…I led you to believe I didn't care."

Angela's words are spinning in my head, and I will the conjured images away as I reluctantly admit the truth. "Yes." God, I was so wrong.

Bones nods for too long, her arms wrapping around herself in that usual protective stance. Her eyes squeezed shut, she says softly, "I'm sorry I made you think that. I did care…I…I cared a great deal." She swallows, then offers more, "I didn't compartmentalize well at all."

I draw a long, ragged breath, and minimize the gap between us, cupping her chin in my hands and gently tilting Bones' face up to look at me; stubbornly, she keeps her eyes tightly closed.

"Bones," I say, gently, shakily. "Bones, please…" She shakes her head. "Please look at me."

Her eyes, traitorous, open and meet mine. Shining with tears and clouded with hurt, anguish and even the vestiges of leftover grief, her eyes once again prove to be my undoing. I feel a tear drip on each cheek, simultaneously betraying me. "Oh, Bones…" I move my hand from her chin slightly the right, my thumb gently tracing tear tracks on her cheek. "I know you care. I _do_. It's my fault, I should…I should have known better."

Bones draws back slightly, her eyebrows drawing together. She stares at me searchingly, then says, "Did Angela…did she talk to you?"

"Wh-" I am momentarily panicked; but then, Angela never told me not to tell Bones she talked to me. So I opt for honesty. "How did you know?"

"Because that's what she said tonight. She mentioned continuously that you should have known better." Bones pauses, then tentatively asks, "What did she…?"

"She told me a lot of what happened after…after I was shot. At the hospital, and when they told you…everything up to the funeral."

Bones looks away momentarily, and I scrutinize her face for a reaction. Then, she looks back at me, tears falling now. "I should have told you myself."

"I wish you had," I admit honestly. "But Angela was right; I should have known. I know you better than that, and I…I just should have known." Bones continues to look miserable, so I press on, "You don't wear your feelings on your sleeve, Bones, and that's okay. It doesn't make you cold, or unfeeling."

"I'm sorry."

I force myself to chuckle a little, even though it feels all wrong in my throat. "Bones, you've gotten in a bad habit lately of apologizing when you shouldn't. _I_ should be doing that." I touch her face again, my tone turning serious. "And I am. I'm so sorry, Bones…I'm sorry for what happened last week. I'm sorry for what I said tonight, and…I'm sorry for what you had to go through three months ago. I'm sorry I never asked."

Bones sniffles, and swipes the middle of her thumb under both her eyes. "I went to the lab because I…I didn't know what else to do."

"You don't have to explain-"

She shakes her head. "I-I want to…it was just…it was so hard, Booth." Her voice cracks, and my heart aches for her, for the pain evident her voice. "I thought if I had something to…to focus on it would be easier to get through the days but…while I understand logically time progressed as always, that ten days seemed endless. I couldn't even…I couldn't comprehend the fact that I would never see you again." Tears course freely down Bones' face now, and I take her hand in mine, instinctually, the only comfort I can offer right now. "I'm sure Sweets would have something to say about my abandonment issues or some psychological nonsense but…but it's true that I never thought _you_ would be gone. And in spite of my best efforts to remain independent, the experience forced me to confront the fact that I…I've grown to depend on you."

Bones pauses, choking back a sob. "I even wished that woman had achieved her original objective…to shoot me. It seemed a preferable option at the time." Her face crumples, and I feel like my heart's crumbling to bits, only to be repaired when she is. "I'm aware everyone thought I was being callous and distant refusing to go the funeral b-but I didn't think I could face it." She's sobbing in earnest now, but still desperately trying to get the words out. "I cared, Booth, I did. And last week when I heard those gunshots and you didn't answer… I was so t-terrified. Not for me, never for me…only you. I was so glad to see you standing over me, Booth, I never even put it together that you were the only available assailant…I didn't care, it never mattered, I promise…"

Bones is crying too hard to speak now, and I am finally able to give into the desire that's been gripping me since she opened the door; I move forward so the gap between us is nonexistent and wrap her securely in my arms.

She relaxes against me, one arm wrapping around my waist, the other clutching the front of my shirt. Her face presses against my chest, and I can feel her tears soaking through my shirt, her frame shuddering with each sob. We stay that way, me holding Bones and letting her cry for a long time.

"I'm sorry," I murmur against her hair, a few stray tears streaking down my face, a seemingly irrepressible response to Bones' pain. "I'm so sorry." I repeat it several times, a result of my earlier realization that I will never be able to say it enough to Bones. "I never wanted you to get hurt…" What breaks me is how many things this sentence applies to: all I've managed lately is hurting her.

Bones shakes her head against my chest, presumably a protest on my apologies, but I ignore and say, "'S my fault, Bones. All of this… I just want to make it right."

Sniffling, she draws back to look at me, saying thickly, "I told you. You don't have to." She sighs shakily. "I just want things to return to normal." Bones eyes fall on my shirt, which is now soaked on the front. "Look what I did…"

"It doesn't matter," I say gently, and without thinking about it, I reach out and gently thumb away any remnants of tears on Bones' face. "I wish you wouldn't cry though."

"I wish I wouldn't, either. It's quite unpleasant."

I smile weakly, but it doesn't hold. "I don't want to hurt you anymore, Bones. In any way." My eyes dart to her side, the place where I left a scar.

"Booth…I'm going to get hurt sometimes. We both are…high risk situations, remember? Whether it's because of a suspect purposefully hurting us, or one of us accidentally hurting each other – and please recall that I've done that as well – it's going to happen sometimes. The important thing is that we're still _here_." She smiles tremulously. "We always manage that, at least."

I am able, this time, to return the smile. "That's true."

There's a beat of silence; Bones hesitates, then admits softly, "The other night I was…I was dreaming about you being shot. I have that nightmare quite often, actually and since last week the…the frequency has increased."

"I'm sorry I didn't believe you, Bones."

"I'm sorry I didn't plainly tell you," she counters. "They're quite upsetting, the nightmares."

"I know."

She nods, then, after another moment's hesitation, says, "I wish…I wish you would reconsider the gun situation. I believe if you just try again, if you continue to meet with Dr. Sweets." She pauses, steeling herself. "Maybe there is some merit to his methods. He has impressive credentials, at least."

She's asking me to try. I think about what Angela told me about taking it one thing at a time. I can't make any promises now, not on anything certain. That feeling at the shooting range, the horrible flashbacks and recollections, is still fresh in my mind.

But I just told Bones I didn't want to hurt her anymore. And if I walk away from our partnership, it will most definitely hurt her.

I can try. For Bones, I can try.

"Okay," I say. "I'll try. I…I promise to try."

There's a pause, and for one sinking moment I am afraid this isn't enough. I stare straight ahead, at the television, cursing myself for not being able to give her more, when she surprises me by kissing me on the cheek.

This happened once before, when I let her brother see his stepdaughter in the hospital, delaying arrest. The sensation is the same, shock waves travelling throughout my body; but this time, we're close together on the couch, and when I turn to look at her in surprise, Bones' face is still merely inches from mine.

Our gazes lock and my heart begins to thud painfully in my chest when enough seconds pass so I can see Bones isn't moving back. For some reason, at this moment Angela's words echo in my head.

_Sweetie. Don't play dumb with me. She _loves_ you._

"Hi," Bones whispers shyly, a voice I've rarely heard from her.

"Hi,"

The eye contact is intense, but when Bones breaks it, it's only because her eyes drift, slightly downward, focusing on my lips briefly before returning.

Suddenly I'm thirteen again, working up the nerve for my first kiss with my middle school girlfriend; my palms are sweaty, hands trembling, my mouth problematically dry.

I start to edge forward, but an image flashes, unbidden, into my mind.

Bones, crumpled on the ground of the basement. My hand on the gun.

_I don't deserve this._

Panic washes over me, and suddenly I back up, breaking the moment, facing forward again, words tumbling nervously out of my mouth as if I can just skip awkwardness. "I'll talk to Sweets as usual. And I'll go back to the range sometime soon. I promise."

I glance sideways at Bones' face, afraid of what I'll decipher in her eyes this time. Disappointment (_is that wishful thinking?_). Surprise. Hurt?

She shakes her head slightly, recovering, but her tone is strange. "Good. I can go with you, if you want."

"Yeah. Sure. Yes. That'd be great." I smile too widely.

Bones stands up. "I'm going to grab a drink. You want anything?"

I shake my head and watch her go.

_Idiot._

I have to try harder.

_Alright! Once again, you guys have been great…more reviews, please! I'm interested in finding out what you think about the Booth/Brennan confrontation of course, but also about everything Angela told Booth. Any thoughts are welcome! Hope you enjoyed! _


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